#tw minor mentions of death

[writingattemptsxx]

Demons In Grief

MC is gone, so the demon brothers go through the five stages of grief.

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Something I posted on my AO3 and wanted to post here, also third day I posted something in a row (forgot is I posted my previous thing early today or yesterday), but this probably won’t as common, this is just to get my blog out there.

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Tw: Mentions of death

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Well known stages that humans go through, but even beings as powerful as the Demon Brothers, Avatars of the Seven Deadly Sins, will still experience them. The most potent time they experienced them was after your death, when you were taken from them, especially after you were taken too soon .

Denial

Lucifer buried himself in his work. He could have sworn you came into his office so many times, but when he looked to the door, you were never there. He just looked back down, trying to continue his work, only for the cycle to repeat later.

Mammon’s brain just tended to skip the information you weren’t there, as if it was just waiting for that information to be proven wrong, for you to just appear. He would just continue acting normal until you came back, even if you never did.

Levi shut himself in his room. He burned through double, maybe more, games and animes than he did before. Even while blasting through so many games and shows, there were some he didn’t touch, couldn’t finish, the ones you were playing/watching together or wanted to play/watch together. He was waiting for you to come back to touch those.

Satan’s mind just went blank. It wouldn’t register anything, much less the fact you’re gone. To an outsider, he looked like an empty shell, stuck in the world of his mind, his mind of nothingness.

Asmo sunk himself into his make up. He practiced new techniques and mastered old. He wouldn’t let a single mistake go. Not a single hair would be out of place. When you came back, his amazing beauty would be shown right next to yours.

Beel started to eat everything that entered into the house, except for a few. He was already known for his gluttony, but if he was eating he wouldn’t have to think. He wouldn’t have to think you weren’t there. The only thing he controlled his gluttony enough to skip over was your favorite foods and stuff you were saving to eat later. You would eat that later when you came back.

Belphie only woke up daily to spend time with you, but now you were only there while he was sleeping, so now it’s almost unheard for even Beel to see him up. All he needed was to see you, hug you, cuddle you, and if he had to sleep to do that, then so be it.

Anger

Lucifer felt angry at everything. You were precious to him, so how DARE the world allow ANYTHING to happen to you. He knew you were destined to leave, but it wasn’t supposed to be this soon. His inner self wanted to destroy anything that allowed it to happen, but he knew that would only make things worse, so he tried to keep it in as much as possible. Even though he tried to hide what he was feeling as much as possible, anyone in his vicinity could notice how much more snappy he became and harsh towards anything that might slightly upset him.

Part of Mammon’s anger went to his greed and the other part became destructive. The world didn’t treat his treasure preciously, so why should he treat the world’s treasures preciously? He tried to get his hands on anything he could possibly want and then some. If anything tried to get in his way, it didn’t come out of the altercation without some hurt to show at the best. He ended up tied from the ceiling many times over.

Levi usually knew better than to fall into gamer’s rage. It made his play worse when he fell into anger, but almost every inconvenience in his game made him so angry he lost three controllers, almost five, if two weren’t fixable. A few brothers tried to redirect him to anime, so he, hopefully, wouldn’t be at risk of breaking something, but even watching something couldn’t distract him from the anger he felt. Anger at what? He didn’t even know anymore.

Satan found even the smallest thing to get angry at. There was always something wrong around him, and with all the anger he had, his demon form was always out. You could pretty easily track Satan because there was always something, or someone, broken in his wake. If something got in his way, he would get it out, one way or another.

Asmo’s anger went towards making sure his appearance was spotless, perfect. NOTHING would even scuff his shoes, he wouldn’t let it. He even started forcing his perfection on his brothers. His brothers should know better than to sully you name with their, according to him, horrific looks.

Beel wanted food. Food. Food. FOOD. His hunger stung more than usual and was never satiated. Not even a ten course meal could take the slightest edge off the hunger. How could others withhold food from him. He was obviously the one who needed it. Give. Him. The. Food. NOW.

Every sound became too loud for Belphie. Every light became too bright. He was trying to sleep. He wanted to sleep. How dare the horrible world try to assert itself in his life. The horrible world that took you away.

Bargaining

Lucifer played every event on his mind in repeat. What if he had done this instead? What if he had done that? Would you still be alive? He is one of the strongest demons, so why couldn’t he keep you with him? Was there something he could have done? Is there something he can do?

Mammon started stealing small things from your room to keep. A pencil here. A small price if jewelry there. He always had something of yours in his pocket. If he had these things form you with him, you wouldn’t be truly gone, right?

Levi started watching some anime’s you two had always talked about wanting to watch, and he started playing games you talked about wanting to play. He still couldn’t bring himself to touch things you were in the middle of, but with the new things, he could start them and then talk to you, your memory, about them.

Satan delved into any possible book with even the slightest relation to how you died. If he had every bit of knowledge, he would know what he could do, what he could have done. ANYTHING he could have done to have kept you here.

Asmo started to take influences from how you dressed. He would do anything to keep your memory alive. If he kept your memory alive, even in the smallest ways, you wouldn’t be completely gone, right? Right.

Beel tried to get the foods you liked to eat together. He got as many as he could. If he could eat with him, maybe it wouldn’t feel as though you were completely gone.

Belphie tried to act how he did while you were alive while also fixing anything you nitpicked him for. If he acted perfect, do whatever you may have wanted, maybe you could come back. Maybe he could see you at least one more time.

Depression

Lucifer tried his best to keep up with deadlines, and he did, but the work was sloppier than usual and only did the bare minimum. He tried this whole time to hide in his work, yet now it felt like everything started to crumble. He tried working this whole time, yet it didn’t bring you back. It didn’t even distract him. Why was he even trying?

Mammon became quiet and kept to his room mostly. He didn’t want to see areas, areas he normally saw you in, without you. He didn’t want to hear the silence. He still clung to the items of yours he took, but it didn’t dull the pain of you no longer being with him. He wanted you with him, but you weren’t, and it hurt. It hurt bad.

Levi lost all most all his energy. He didn’t even feel like lifting a controller to play a game. All he did day in and day out was passively watch some animes and sleep. There were a few days he was able to drudge himself out of bed to take a shower and get some nonsnack food, but those days were few and far between. He wanted to try. He knew you wouldn’t want to see him like this. He just couldn’t see a point.

Satan didn’t think he would ever know the feeling of anger blowing over into sheer pain, but now he can say he has. It wasn’t all gone of course, he wasn’t the Avatar of Wrath for nothing, a significant portion just felt painful, and only seems to get worse with time. Life was painful.

Asmo started to fall in on himself. He tried to use makeup to make everything look fine, but it never stayed for to long with his tears. He hated this feeling. He hated it so much. The world felt like it was crashing around him. You were the only glue for his world.

Beel stopped wanting food. He still ate because he needed to at least dull the pain of his hunger, but he felt so guilty. He didn’t want to eat when you can’t. He didn’t want to eat without you.

Belphie started blaming himself for everything he did to you in your life. He was rude. He tricked you. He KILLED you. Even if you revived and made it back, he still hurt you for something that was never your fault. Now you’re truly gone this time, and he can’t ever fully make up for what he did to you.

Acceptance

Lucifer would never get you back. He understood that, and he mostly came to terms with the sting. He started to return to how others new him. The oldest, most reliable brother and Diavolo’s right hand. He had a picture of you on his desk, started to tell you how his day was, and wished you well wherever you were.

Mammon came out of his room more and more. His schemes also came back more and more. He started to go back to his mischievous and energy filled life. He was never as dependent on the objects he’d taken to remember you by as he had been, but he still kept a memento of you on him at all times.

Levi finished the animes and games you wanted to do together. He made new saves on the games, and he made sure to tell you what happened. Hopefully wherever you were, you were able to hear him, and hear his thanks for being with him.

Satan finally started to be able to relax. You being gone still stung, but he was able to live with the sting now. He started reading books to an image of you, books that reminded him of you. He wanted you to know, wherever you were, that you were still remembered and loved, even if you weren’t there with them anymore.

Asmo started seeing the light of the world again. He started to return to how he was, outgoing and social. He mostly returned to his old style, but he still kept some aspects of how you dressed to remember you by.

Beel started return to his kind and caring self. He was still getting used to you not being there, he doubted he ever fully would, but he came to accept it was a fact you were gone and and he couldn’t change it. He started to go back to eating as much as he could, and he also continued to eat things that reminded him of you. He will remember you and how loving you were to him and his family.

Belphie came to understand you were gone, and he couldn’t bring you back. He regrets that he hurt you as much as he did, but he knows now that at least he can try to help others in your memory. He probably wouldn’t be like you, but he could at least do this to keep your memory and kindness alive.

Their thank you

You helped Lucifer learn to rely on others more, and helped him and his relationship with little brothers as well.

You helped Mammon feel as if he was more than a scumbag trying to imitate his older brother.

You helped Levi understand he isn’t horrible for liking what he likes and that he is truly loved.

You helped Satan truly understand emotions other than anger and how deep they all were.

You helped Asmo shared his insecurities and feel an attachment to someone who isn’t himself or his brothers.

You helped Beel get back his twin and helped him dull his ever lasting hunger.

You helped Belphie come to terms with what happened durning the Celestial War and helped him return to his brothers.

From the bottom of all their hearts, “Thank you”

[isjasz]

// In stars and time spoilers (of the game mechanic that is in the trailer and in the game description LOL)

[Day 288]

More isat au but guess what quote i can use >:33333333333 LETSGOOOOOOOOOOO (Also yeah introducing what the game is about for those who dont know HEHEHHEHEHEHE)

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 14 - Right Here

I’d like to apologize for this chapter, it’s gonna hurt. Like angst doesn't even begin to describe this. Also, this is completely my own head cannon & is ABSOLUTELY NOT lore accurate (as far as we know).

Photo: From Pinterest, all credit to original poster NSFW: Mentions/Depictions of violence, PTSD, torture, death

Your armchair is not as comfortable as you remember. You sit with your knees curled up to your chest. Your hoodie pulled down over your knees, your arms hugging your legs. You rest your chin on your knee, trying to organize your thoughts. You try to imagine you are so small that no one will know you’re even there. 

The lights are dimmed, you can barely see Sylus sprawled out on the floor of the cage. You remember the night you first brought Sylus here. You were so confident, how did you end up here again? 

You replay that night in your head. His voice echoing in your ear. You stare blankly at his unconscious form, digging your fingernails into your palms willing yourself not to cry.

"I’d hate to disappoint you Miss Hunter."

But he did.

"But her mind… that’s what is most fascinating. It’s brilliant, calculated, and somewhat haunting."

And now it’s haunted by him. His voice. His touch. His empty promises.

"Seems like everything about you is special, kitten."

You were a means to an end. A tool to be used and tossed aside. Nothing special.

A soft groan brings you back to the present. You see Sylus roll away from you and onto his side. His back muscles tensing as he tries to ground himself. He reaches a hand up to the side of his neck. He lets out a soft grunt as his fingers trace the sensitive flesh where the needle deposited the heavy drug. He sits up and scans the room, his eyes straining against the darkness.

You hold your breath. You know he can crush the doors of the cage and simply walk out. But this is the only place you could think of bringing him. You could at least lock him in the lower levels of your tower long enough to evacuate everyone else if it came to that. You take a deep breath before using your phone to turn up the lights. Sylus’ eyes snap to yours in an instant. He was usually hard to read, his emotions hidden behind a wall. But when you look at him, you can see he is raw and broken. 

You pull your hoodie up to release your legs, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare skin. You stand and slowly make your way closer to the cage. The room is eerily quiet, the soft pitter patter of your bare feet on the linoleum echoing through the room. As you approach the cage, Sylus shifts to face you. He makes no attempt to stand up. He draws one leg up and props his arm on his knee. 

“There’s a shirt on the chair.” Your voice is void of emotion. You barely recognize it.

Sylus glances over to the chair to see the sweater you brought for him to put on. He returns his gaze to you. His eyes have glazed over, if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing you’d think he was perfectly calm. He tilts his head as he looks you over. From your head to your toes, it doesn’t feel sensual this time, he’s sizing you up. Trying to determine your motives.

“Why?” 

One word. That’s all he says. The base in his voice is amplified, the simple question rings in your ear. You straighten up, your eyes narrow and you cross your arms. You’re the motherfucking leader of Himitsu, time to act like it.

“That is the question of the hour, isn’t it Oni?”

At the mention of his code name, his eyes close. He drops his head. He sighs deeply before looking up to you once more.

“Did the kid tell you before you killed him or did you dig that up on your own?” His words cut through you like a razor.

“Have you heard of a hacker who goes by the name of Macintosh?” Sylus nods. “He’s on my payroll. Took him less than 24 hours to narrow it down once he had the burner.” 

His jaw clenches. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, his eyes finally dropping to the floor.

“Bit of advice. Tossing a burner off the pier is not the most effective disposal method.” Sylus chuckles. 

“And what would you suggest then, kitten?” 

That’s when you lose it. 

“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not your goddamn kitten. But I am, apparently, your plaything, right? Distract me, fool me, fuck me. Was that your plan? So you could stroll into my territory and do as you please? Attack my clients? Destroy Himitsu?”

Sylus jumps to his feet and stalks over towards. He tries to grab you through the bars, but you’ve moved far enough back. He uses his evol to pull you forward. Before you reach the bars your gun is in your hand. Your body slams against the bars, you look up to see the barrel of your gun resting at the center of Sylus’ forehead. He doesn’t back away or try to pry the gun out of your hand. He rests his head against the barrel and holds your upper arms tightly against the bars. 

“Do you really think I fucked you as a distraction?” 

You can’t stop your bottom lip from quivering. The tears you’ve held back threaten to fall once more. You take a deep breath and try to force a smile.

“I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. You’ve lied about everything else.” 

“I’ve never lied about how I feel about you. I can’t.” 

“But you did lie.” Sylus finally reaches a hand up to your face, holding your chin steady. His thumb slowly brushes against your jaw.

“I’m sorry.” 

You break away from him. He doesn’t try to pull you back. You drop your gun on the table next to your armchair. Your fingers rake through your hair as you try to calm down. When you turn back to Sylus, he has an arm propped above his head leaning against the bars of the cage. His other hand extended through the bars to you.

“Please let me tell you why. Why Ridgeway and why I couldn’t tell you.”

You stare at him. His bare chest and strong arms make you ache for him. Your body craves him and it hurts to resist. Your heart hammers in your chest. Should you give him the chance? Your mind drifts to earlier that morning. Sitting in the tub, your body pressed against his, his voice in your ear, that heartbreaking tone as he tells you about your shared Aether fragments.

"You wished we could be free. And I made you a promise, that I would find a way for you to be free."

Your heart wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. To hold him close. You see his arm drop and retreat back into the cage, his head pressing against the bar. You take a cautious step forward. His eyes flutter up to meet yours. You wrap your arms around yourself.

“Why?” 

“Ridgeway has a brother. Goes by Sinclair. He’s a member of the board for a medical tech company. I needed information on Sinclair and I was hoping Ridgeway had records that could lead me to whatever hole he has crawled into.”

“Why are you hunting Sinclair? And how does burning down Ridgeway Liquors help you with that? And why couldn’t you have just talked to me about this?” 

“I needed to send a message to Sinclair. His family will suffer if he crosses a line. I couldn’t tell you… I couldn’t…” He struggles to form the words, he starts to tap his head on the bars. Slowly building the intensity until his forehead is red.

You close the distance and grab onto his hand that has reached up to hold onto a bar. He stops and looks down at you. His eyes are hazy, a tear finally falls.

“I couldn’t risk them finding you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to process what he could mean. 

“Sinclair was one of the doctors that worked on us. He’s looking for you.” 

Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“I made a promise to you. I promised I’d find a way for you to be free. And I found a way. As long as I knew you were safe, I could deal with what they did to me. But when I heard he was leaving to look for you, I couldn’t let that happen. You’ve kept your identity hidden, it’s bought you time. But if he finds out, he’ll come for you. You being unaware kept you safe, at least that's what I convinced myself.” 

“What do they want with me?”

“You’re an energy source. The most pure and regenerative source ever discovered.”

“Is it the Aether core? What about you?”

“The Aether core amplifies your evol, changes it. Possibly adding to it if you’re unlucky. They used me for… honestly, I don’t know how long. But my energy isn’t enough it seems.”

“Is Sinclair working alone or…” 

“The group he runs, their slogan is A New Kind of Energy for a Brighter Tomorrow - safe to say he most likely has a small army hunting us.”

“I thought I knew every major corporation in the Zone.”

“It’s not in the Zone. It’s in Linkon. But they have their people everywhere.”

“What’s the name?”

“Ever.”

Your heart skips a beat. The name feels burned into your memory. But something Sylus said before is the only thing you can think of. You are afraid to ask, but it’s tearing you up inside.

“You said you could deal with what they did to you… What did they do?” 

Sylus drops his gaze to your hand, still wrapped around his hand on the bar. You see his eyes dim, as if he has retreated into his mind. You squeeze his hand, reassuring him.

“After I helped you escape, they punished me. More experiments, more surgeries. As I became more powerful they put more security measures in place. I can’t access all of my power. They called it a 'bio-metric inhibitor'. All I remember is I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. Eventually they installed a patch over my eye so I couldn’t control anyone. My cell was the energy conduit they used to…”

He looked up at you now, the pain in his eyes so great you could hardly breathe. You hadn’t noticed you had started crying. He brings his arm down to reach through the bars and brush the tears away. You lean into his touch.

“I’ll stop.”

“No. Sylus. Please tell me.” He takes a deep breath before looking down to stare at his feet.

“The regenerative part… when they drain the energy… it… it kills you.” A sob escapes your throat. Sylus doesn’t look up.

“When they first tested their theory… they chose you. No matter how much I begged and fought, they took you away. And when you came back, you had no idea who I was. After that, I spent every day, every hour, every minute working on a plan for you to escape. A month later, I succeeded. You were free. I don’t know how long it was before they needed another energy transference but when they strapped me down I found myself hoping to forget. To forget losing you. But then I woke up. And I remembered everything. My first surgery when they cut into my eye, the first time I saw you, the first time we touched, the first time we kissed, the first time we made love, every time there was pain in your eyes, the fear in them when I put you on the shuttle…”

His grip on the bars was weakening, his body shaking as he spoke. You were frozen, listening to what he went through, for you. Your heart ached. But nothing could have prepared you for what he said next.

“And I remembered how it felt to die. Pain so intense I wanted to tear myself in half. Blinding heat then complete stillness then everything was cold. So fucking cold. And dark. It was completely dark, no light anywhere, I searched for days but it was just dark. I found myself wishing for pain and then I’d feel it, like a knife in my chest, my heart started again. I opened my eyes and I was back. I don’t remember how many times I died. I stopped counting. But every time I woke up I would look for you. Wishing that my previous life was a dream and you were still there with me. And every time I would see your empty room and… and I…” 

His voice finally broke. His grip on the bars faltered and he sank to the floor. He pulled his legs up to his chest, for the first time he looked small. You ran to the door of the cage and pressed your thumb to the lock. The door swung open and you rushed inside, crashing down next to Sylus, your arms wrapping around him. You pull his head to your chest and run your fingers through his silver hair. His body was shaking and he didn’t dare touch you. He wouldn’t even look at you. Desperate to bring him back to you, you start placing gentle kisses to his shoulders and up to his neck. You see his eyes close and you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his torso. Your arms pull him back towards you. You caress his chest and place kisses on his back.

You sit like that for what feels like hours until one of his hands reaches up to take yours. He strokes your palm slowly. 

“Y/N…?” 

“I’m here. I’m right here.” 

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer

[ladykailitha]

Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 7

And now you see why I waited until I had this part written before posting the last one? That was one hell of a cliffhanger. Also everyone gets a dig at Al in this. It's family bonding event. But Steve has the best burn I think.

Just a heads up, Steve talks about being abused...heads up if that's a trigger for you.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

***

Steve placed his hand on Eddie’s back the second he felt his friend stiffen next to him.

“Deep breath, Eds,” he murmured. “There is nothing he can say to you that I will let him get away with, okay? Deep breath. Let me and Wayne handle this.”

Eddie let out a deep breath. “Just careful, Stevie. He’s been known to charm snakes out of their skin.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. So that’s the kind of man he was. He knew that kind of man intimately. His own father was like that. He knew what to watch for now that he had been forewarned.

He plastered a solemn expression on his face, that to everyone who didn’t know him well enough would think sincere, but to Eddie and Wayne, they could see the hard set line of his jaw as he kept one eye on Al and the other on the proceedings.

The funeral wrapped up and everyone lined up to throw dirt on the now lowered coffin. Al tried to get directly behind Eddie, but Steve seamlessly inserted himself between them.

Al bristled but the portly man next to him coughed and he was forced to back down.

Finally the family was all that remained as they all walked back to the church.

The portly man stuck to Al like glue and Steve felt a sudden warmth for the boys in blue at that moment. Because he was pretty sure that even though Al Munson had been granted a furlough, someone was paying to keep that man on a short leash.

The family and a small handful of friends arranged themselves on the pews and waited.

It wasn’t too long until a funny little man with thick bottled glasses came hurrying in.

“I’m sorry Mrs Nelson,” he twittered to Penny. “I had a hard time getting to the church.”

Penny just nodded. “It’s all right Mr Mulbury, you’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

He walked up the pulpit and put his briefcase on it. He pulled out a piece of paper of it and then walked back around the pulpit, leaving the briefcase where it was.

“Ehhm,” Mr Mulbury coughed. “The last will and testament of Gina Munson goes as follows...”

He read it out, people getting little trinkets and things that were meaningful to them, instructions on what to do with her clothes and other things that wouldn’t be given to friends or family.

And then it came time to divide up her meager savings. “My savings of five thousand dollars will be divided three ways. To Penny, you get a thousand to repair that lovely house of yours. I know you didn’t want anything, but use it for your family, dearest girl. Love you all the best.”

Penny laughed a watery little chuckle. She shook her head fondly.

“To Wayne, you get two thousand dollars to finally get that motor home you always wanted. When the time is right, retire and see the world like you always dreamed of. See the stars, my beautiful boy. You deserve stars.”

Wayne teared up, coming down in rivers down his face. Both Steve and Eddie hugged him tight.

“To Allen, who had squandered every good thing he every had, his loving wife, his devoted son, his talents and his good sense, you get nothing. You deserve nothing. If you are here to hear this, I hope it is because the state of Texas deemed it so, and not because you have been set loose again on the world.”

There was a gasp from those gathered and they descended into harsh whispers as they wondered aloud who got the remaining two thousand dollars.

Mr Mulbury cleared his throat. “Instead the remaining two thousand will be given to your son, Edward. Through your actions that boy has suffered so, and because of your actions he will receive not only the money, but all my love as well. Live your dreams, Eddie. Be that star for your uncle. Shine brighter then even that of Polaris. Butterfly kisses into the sunset, darling boy.”

Now Eddie was crying too. Two thousand wouldn’t get him far, but it could get him started. He raised a shaking hand to his quivering lips. Steve grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it.

Eddie looked over and Steve mouthed, “you deserve it.”

He nodded back.

Finally there were some other little things to be wrapped up in the will and then it was all over.

Everyone stood and Steve looked over at Al for the first time since they entered the church. The man had a smile plastered on his face that sent chills down Steve’s spine. Whenever his father wore that expression it meant trouble for someone, usually Steve.

They mingled for a bit, waiting until Penny’s friend came back to tell her that dinner was ready for them. Penny, Wayne, Steve, and Eddie all clustered together while everyone else gathered in other groups.

People were coming up and telling Eddie how much he deserved the money and how much his grandmother loved him. It made Steve puff out his chest in pride.

Finally Al came over and all four of them stiffened.

“Eddie, my boy!” Al greeted warmly. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. You’re spitting image of your old man.” He lifted a handcuffed hand with a jaunty little wave. “I’d hug ya, but I’m on a bit of a leash.”

Penny bristled. “I paid good money for that leash, I’m glad to see it working.”

The men turned to her in shock.

“Did you know,” she said through gritted teeth, “that the state of Texas was going to let him come to the funeral without a guard to make sure he didn’t escape? And that you actually have to pay for that service?”

Al grinned. “Ah...Penny-elle-oh-pee, you shouldn’t have.” His voice dropped low and menacing. “You really shouldn’t have.”

The portly man nudged him with his elbow. Al straightened up, his charming mask firmly in place.

Wayne shook his head. “Al, Al, Al...you never did know when to fold and when to call.”

Al turned to his brother for the first time. “Big brother always watching out for everyone and never getting ahead. How much they pay you at that workhouse? You know the one, the one that took Dad’s life?”

Wayne grinned. “Pretty good considering we union’ed up about five years ago. Which would have known if you actually read any of the letters I sent you. Just like you would have known about what Eddie looks like now...”

Steve hurried to cover his snort, but Al whipped his head his direction.

“And who the hell are you?”

Steve eyed him with a raised eyebrow. “Steve Harrington, my mother is Sophia Kincade, of the Lexington Kincades and a good friend of your son’s.”

Al turned to Penny. “Why he is here with family?”

Wayne bristled. “This is the boy that saved your son during that major earthquake we had earlier this year. Another thing you’d know if you’d read my damn letters. He deserves to be here just as much as you if not more so.”

Just then Penny’s friend came in and told them that dinner was ready for the family.

Al ran his tongue over his teeth and grinned. “Hey, Bernie, how much time have we got?”

The portly man looked at his watch. “We’ve got about an hour before we have to leave to catch our flight.”

Penny furrowed her brow but knew she couldn’t deny him dinner as much as it grated.

The friends that had been at the reading made their goodbyes and soon everyone else was filing into cars.

Penny and her family in her blue Chevy, Steve, Eddie and Wayne in his BMW, and Al and Bernie in an unmarked Crown Vic.

They get to the house and the scents of a home cooked meal waft from the open front door.

They all go sit down at the table, Danny and Wayne pulling out two more chairs for their unwelcomed guests.

Steve was disappointed to see that not only was there enough food to feed Al and Bernie, but that there was enough food to feed a fucking army.

Penny’s friend’s name is Lucy and her daughter Beth is one of Lauren’s friends, too. They’re both blonde with bright blue eyes and curvy bodies.

They are bustling around the table making sure everyone has enough food.

About half way through dinner Al speaks up. “So you still playing that guitar of yours, Ed?”

Eddie stiffened. “I’ve got a red NJ Warlock that I play now.”

“Ooh...fancy,” Al whistled. “You steal it?”

Lauren and Wayne bristled, but Eddie scoffed. “No, but I did steal an RV once while on the run wanted for murder, but they were a bunch of pricks anyway.”

Wayne and Steve stifled a laugh while the rest of the family looked as though they weren’t sure if he was telling the truth or not.

“Cleared of all charges,” Steve added with a sly smile. “Court ruled it extenuating circumstances.”

It was Eddie’s turn to hide his smile in his napkin.

Al’s mood darkened. He didn’t like being out of the inside joke. “You gonna do anything with the talent I gave ya, teaching you how to play on that beat up ‘ole six string?”

This time Eddie rankled. How dare AL imply that he had anything to do with his ability to play guitar? As if the real reason wasn’t sitting right there at the table.

Steve put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, calming him.

“Was that before or after you taught him how to hotwire a car?” he asked, faux innocence.

Al sputtered.

“See, I always got the impression,” Steve continued, “that instead of teaching Eddie how to play guitar or throw a ball you were too busy trying to make sure your son followed in your footsteps straight into the penitentiary.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide with barely contained glee.

“While Wayne on the other hand,” he said scratching his temple, “was working hard to put on the table, get Eddie through school, and give him the best life he could given the hand you dealt both of them. Now, I’m just some outsider, but I know what it’s like to have a shit dad.”

The room was stock still. Steve didn’t think that they were even breathing at this point, but he pressed on.

“Didn’t fit into the box he built? He hit me. Didn’t get captain my sophomore year, something that had never been done ever? He hit me. Didn’t date the right girl? He hit me. Ditched my asshole friends? He hit me. Now, I don’t know if you’re cut from the same cloth or not. I don’t give a fuck. But you tell another lie like that one to these honest folk, and Officer Bernie here will be taking you back to Texas in a body bag.”

Al jumped to his feet, but before he could even twitch Steve’s direction Bernie whipped out a taser and zapped him with it. Soon he was doing a different kind of twitching.

On the floor.

Bernie began clapping and soon everyone else was too.

Steve blushed. “To think I could have been like that asshole if it wasn’t for getting some sense knocked into me by people who actually gave a damn. I’m sorry he ruined dinner.”

Penny scoffed. “Dinner isn’t ruined. Wayne, Danny please help the kind officer take out the trash.”

Officer Bernie chuckled. “Much appreciated, ma’am.”

Wayne and Danny stood up and helped him take Al back into the Crown Vic.

Wayne went through and made sure that Al didn’t steal anything or had anything that might be a danger to the good officer. He never had trusted Al, even as kids and he sure the hell wasn’t going to start now.

Soon the officer was on his way and the family sat down to eat the dinner that was so wonderfully prepared in peace. Like Gina had always intended.

Wayne smiled at Steve. He was proud of how he had stood up to Al for his boy.

****

Pt 8|Pt 9|Pt 10|Pt 11|Pt 12

Tag list: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @emly03 @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @vecnuthy @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @gutterflower77 @genderless-spoon @hel-spawn @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mamafaithful @yikes-a-bee @dragonmama76 @flaming-reauxster

[thefanciestborrower]

The Devouring of Prometheus

Ohh boy this fic has been over a year in the making and by golly am I proud of it. It was mostly an attempt to imitate Mary Shelley’s writing style while adding more classic lit vore into the world cause oh boy do we need it. This fic is a little darker than my usual fluffy stuff because. You know. It’s Frankenstein. But everything is still safe despite what Victor thinks. Anyways, please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Warnings: Contains soft, safe, unwilling vore, mentions of digestion, mentions of dying, mentions of cannon character death, minor injury, and vomit

Characters: Victor Frankenstein and the Creature

Word Count: 2,830

Mankind has no greater fear than that of being devoured. It is an instinctual fear, engrained deep within our very beings from the moment we are born, as it is in every living being, and yet it is perhaps one of the most uncommon fears to experience in its true, unaltered form. We are quite familiar with the notion of being killed and eaten by a wild beast, since such a thing, while not terribly common in the more civilized parts of the world, is often talked of in books and by explorers returning from long voyages to strange, wild lands. It is a threat to be sure, but perhaps not the most fear inspiring one. A hungry lion might indeed pounce upon you with his teeth and claws bared as if to shred you to ribbons while you lay awake in agony, but in truth he is far more merciful than even most men and will end you swiftly with a bite to the neck before he ever starts to feed. The fear of being eaten in this way, then, is diluted by the promise of a swift death at the claws of a creature who bore you no more malice than you do a butchered duck. 

The terror of being consumed lies not in the act of consumption, but in the method. Stories full of giants and ogres who devour men whole and alive fill the countryside and take captive the minds of all who hear them, filling their dreams with images of gnashing teeth and slavering mouths, capable of sending a grown man down, kicking and screaming, in a single swallow. I must confess I never heard much of these tales growing up, aside from a few Clerval was so fond of telling, and when they did reach my ears, I simply scoffed, laughing such frightening images away in the clear light of day when nothing could seem more ridiculous. They were children’s tales, I thought, simply meant to frighten and entertain, for nothing, man or beast, could swallow whole a living man. Oh, how I wish I had been right. 

He came for me in the night. I was asleep, or nearly so, when a sudden noise at my window startled me awake. At first I assumed it to be the scratching of a branch or perhaps even some night creature making its rounds through the garden outside. After all, I was far more unfamiliar with the Oxford landscape than my dear friend Clerval, who had spent much of his afternoon exploring the grounds, so I felt there to be no need for concern. Indeed, I had nearly turned over to drift back to sleep when I saw his eyes. Those wretched, sunken, yellow eyes staring as if into my very soul through the dusty window I had neglected to lock in my naivety. I might have screamed had fear not grasped my throat and strangled my voice, and though I longed to run, terror turned my legs to lead and forced me to watch as the fiend pried open the window with a delicate ease that seemed almost laughable compared to the rest of his hulking mass. I pulled my sheet up to shield my chest like a child might, entertaining fantasies that perhaps this was simply a nightmare, and if I remained still in my bed then he would be unable to harm me, but when he began to climb through the window with the elegance of a lion stalking his prey, eyes never once leaving me, panic settled over my heart and I realized this was no mere conjuring of an overworked mind. The beast was here, looming over me in my chambers as I trembled in bed with naught but a thin sheet and even thinner night clothes to protect me. 

“Devil! What do you want from me!” I cried at last, terror loosening her claws from my throat. “I have not forgotten our agreement, so why do you insist on tormenting me so!” 

I received no reply, the beast more than content to simply stare at my trembling form. Perhaps he enjoyed how weak I must have appeared before him as his eyes flicked over me, almost sizing me up for reasons I could never have comprehended in that moment. Cold and yellow as they were, I could see an inkling of some mysterious emotion behind those eyes, but it’s identity I couldn’t say. Nor did I care. My thoughts were quickly preoccupied as he advanced upon me, padding forwards like some great and terrible cat, until he stopped just shy of the side of my bed, so close I could have reached out and touched him. 

Again, I saw that strange emotion flicker behind his dead eyes, but before I had time to ponder it he wrapped his hands around my chest and lifted me from the safety of my bed with terrifying ease, like one might lift a small child or a doll, and while I screamed and writhed in his hideous grasp, his hold only tightened. My ribs creaked and complained under the pressure and my cries became strangled and choked. With a ghastly popping sound he opened his grotesque mouth, jaw hanging at an angle too wide for any human to achieve, and to my upmost horror he quickly stuffed my head inside with the terrifying efficiency of a ravenous beast. The slimy muscle of his tongue lapped against my face and my body convulsed in disgust as I desperately fought not to be sick. Revolting as my situation was, I did not wish to add my own vomit to the mix, even if it might have disgusted the fiend enough to free me. 

I could see nothing but darkness, each desperate gasp for oxygen only supplying me with the barest sliver of foul air. Teeth ringed my neck like a terrible collar, and for a moment I entertained ideas of those teeth, the very same I had picked and sorted by hand, crashing together to sever my head from my body like some terrible executioner. Before my thoughts could spiral much more in this direction, his grip changed and I was suddenly shoved against the slick, fleshy opening of his throat. My blood curdled and, with a sudden, crushing pressure, my head was crammed downwards in the most painful manner which caused me to cry out in despair. My skull felt as though it would shatter, and I screamed a horrible, terrible shriek of agony and terror as my shoulders were crushed down after me, the tight gullet of the beast threatening to break them into splinters. My vision swam, stars of pain and lack of breath sparking and dancing before my eyes, and though no light followed me into my hellish prison, I could still see the blackest pitch wavering at the edge of my vision, threatening to drown me in its inky embrace. For a moment I wished it would, if only to keep me from the terrible suffering I knew lay before me, but fate is a cruel mistress and before I could sink into that comforting ocean of darkness a terrible pressure bloomed upon the crown of my head and forced me into an open pocket of stinking, putrid air. 

Coughing and gaging I struggled to draw even a single breath. My ribs, now horribly compressed, creaked and shuttered terribly under the pressure of the creature’s throat, and though my legs still flailed outside, and my hands desperately scrambled for a hold on what I felt to be his chin, I did not dare move the length of my compressed torso for fear of inflicting more damage upon myself. Another painful swallow jolted me down, my face jamming roughly into what I presumed to be the bottom of the creature’s dreadful stomach, and the grotesque flesh not only yielded to accept my presence, but did so with an almost pleased sounding groan, if stomachs can be pleased, as if I really were simply a morsel of food to be consumed and forgotten. The sound filled my heart with a terror I’ve never known, and I cried out, though my voice was quickly silenced by the slick flesh as more of my body was squeezed through that terrifically tight ring of muscle and forced to bend and twist to fit my new prison like some sort of contortionist. 

I know not how long it took the devil to consume me: the darkness of my surroundings and constant pain dulled my senses and left me disoriented to the point where I no longer could even tell up from down. I remember no longer feeling the cold air on my body after some time, my entire being now encased in sweltering heat, and searing pain as my legs were crushed down against my ribs. Finally, it was all over. My entire body had been fully compacted into the creature’s stomach, and although this new development was arguably a much worse position than my previous one, I was far too preoccupied with gulping down precious lungfuls of oxygen to care.

Then, all at once, the reality of my situation came crashing down upon me and with the fervor of a cornered beast I began to lash out and fight, twisting and turning in the confined space in hopes of causing my captor at least the slightest bit of discomfort. 

“Fiend! Devil! Release me at once!” I panted, gnashing my teeth in fear and anger. “This is no way to treat any man, let alone your maker!”

I had no doubt that he could hear my cries and feel my struggles, confined as I was, and yet no answer came. Despite the nature of my location, I was completely and utterly alone, for what man pays attention to his food after he’s eaten it. Again, I tried to call out, to plead for release as I fought against the smothering flesh, and again I was ignored, save for a light pressure against my back from which I hastily jerked away. It was his hand; I knew it instinctively. The brute was no doubt relaxing after so fine a feast of human flesh, and that touch was nothing more then the satisfied gloating of a predator now sated with a filling meal that would last him far longer than any morsel of bread or wine. I was merely something to be enjoyed, digested, and forgotten.

 How many more, I wondered, would be lost in the same way once I had perished. Clearly my current location indicated my captor had grown fond of the taste of human, and with a heart wrenching shudder I suddenly realized I had no way of knowing wether I was the first victim of the monster’s appetite, or if he had already glutted himself with other gentle country folk, just as he had done to me, and I was now resting in their grave. The thought was too much for my already distraught and troubled soul, and the disgust which filled me suddenly became too overwhelming to sustain. With a thick heave I proceeded to retch onto myself, my sick mixing with the beast’s own bile, and I sobbed bitterly for my home. 

“Oh, my dear mountains and precious lake. Will I truly never again delight in your sweet air and radiant beauty? Am I to perish so far from all that is fair and wholesome, without even the cold stars to bare witness to my demise?” I lamented; my voice thick with the grief of a man who believes he is to die isolated from everything he once held dear. 

The spongy flesh seemed to mute my voice effectively as a heavy curtain might, and my words fell upon deaf ears, for no reply came from my creation. My captor. My killer. Was I really to meet my end as nothing more than a meal? My last breath tainted by the stench of bile and vomit? The pressure to my back returned, and although the touch revolted me, I was far too exhausted from my fear and the quickly thinning oxygen to do more than twitch in protest. What difference would it make anyways, my fate was already sealed.

Each breath I drew grew more ragged and gasping with every passing second, my panic having done nothing but quickly use up what little air I had in the stale cell, and in some fever, I realized that, although my air was quickly thinning, I had not yet begun to feel the slightest tingle of digestion. Oh, what sweet twist of fate was this! I still would meet my end as nothing more than a morsel of food this was true, but I would be long since unconscious and perhaps even suffocated before acids truly began to work on me and thus spared the sensation of digesting alive. It was a small assurance, but so consumed was I by grief and terror of my fate that even the small mercy of a painless death brought me comfort. It was more than a man like me deserved after all I’d done. The innocent blood on the creature’s hands stained mine as well, and I thought bitterly of poor darling little William and dear Justine. Their blood has been spilt on my account, and yet, while their deaths had been horrific tragedies, I took solace in knowing they had left the world far quicker than I would, and that I would be seeing them again soon.

My vision swam before me, and with one last shuddering sigh I slumped against the slick walls, no longer attempting to catch my breath, for what would be the point in trying to breathe when there is no air left to fill my lungs. The stomach clenched around me with a disgusting squelch, smothering and squeezing my helpless form as it worked to knead what I presumed to be caustic acids into my sodden clothing and soft flesh, preparing for the undoubtably difficult task of liquifying my un-masticated body. With a gasping, barely audible sob I pressed a trembling hand out against my churning prison walls, cursing my creation and praying my end would be swift. Then the darkness engulfed me, and I knew no more.

Due to the circumstances in which I had fallen unconscious I fully expected to never wake again, so when I started awake some unknown amount of time later in the very bed I had been snatched out of, I could seldom comprehend what was happening. My first thought was that my horrendous experience had been naut but a dream; an apparition brought upon me by the dreadful task I knew I would soon be required to complete. Then I became aware of the disgusting film of sticky, foul smelling sick coating my body and the dull, yet throbbing pain in my ribs, and my blood ran cold. It had been no dream. My creation truly had assaulted me in the night, swallowed me whole and alive, and, by some miracle, vomited me back out before his digestive system could process me. In fact, aside from my ribs, which were badly bruised, I appeared whole and unharmed. Not even a drop of acid had singed my clothes, and my skin was fair and unblemished as it had always been. I pressed a hand to my cheek as if to make certain of my unharmed state, and then, to my own surprise, I began to laugh. It was not a mirthful laugh, but rather one of incredulous shock and relief as I grasped at my warm and unharmed skin. So certain had I been that those final moments filled with slimy blackness and foul reeking air inside the creature would be my last that the cold air of my room and the sting of my nails against my face might well have been gifts from Heaven itself. Even now I marvel at my incredible escape and wonder what could possibly have prompted the monster to give up as filling a meal as I surely must have been. I do not think I shall ever know, but judging from the healthy nature which I possessed upon waking, I can only assume he realized he could not process me as he intended and his body expelled me, though wether such an expulsion was voluntary on his part I still could not say. Nonetheless I knew I was no doubt incredibly fortunate to have survived such an encounter and my resolve had the been strengthened. Where before I had postponed my promise, I vowed to not do so again, for who knew how long the wretched beast would be content to wait and leave me and others be. As soon as I was able, I would set to work creating another who would contain his terrible urges and put this dreadful encounter behind me forever. 

[eeboshmeebo]

👁️I see you, and I love you.👁️

Part 2 of Perfection in Pettiness.

================================================

[(︶-︶)]

You held Monoma's hand as you both walked back home from the comic store, a brand-new series of Belgian comics and groceries you were tasked to buy in tow. It was peaceful with only the slightest hints of tension until he started talking.

"Hey, darling?" He asked, glancing at you with a worried look on his face as you both continued walking back to UA.

"Hmm? Yes, my love? What is it?"

He looked around, biting his inner cheek as his face scrunched up slightly, but decided to say it anyways.

"I... I'm worried about Itsuka, you know? She went on a date with a guy along with Pony who came along to make sure everything's alright and she texted the rest of the class about it, but we haven't seen her. Not recently, anyways."

Your hand tightened around his own as you both walked through the city, pulling him closer so he wouldn't be on the crosswalk for too long while walking.

"Yeah, I'm worried too. All we can do is hope for the best and trust her, along with Pony, okay? I'm sure Vlad and the rest of the teachers know what's going on."

You were a bit annoyed at the mention of the two girls. He couldn't know, though, so you just masked it with nervousness and a reassuring squeeze of his hand along with a smile. That seemed to do the trick, as he seemed less nervous than before as he followed you.

The walk back to UA was pretty quick, fueled by both his worry and your 'worry' for your classmates from 1-B.

[◉_◉]

In the class lounge, after you had put the groceries away, Monoma was on the couch reading the first volume of the comics he had bought.

Of course, you were right next to him. Or, more accurately, you had your chin on his lap, looking up at him with your knees on the ground and your hands on his thighs.

"How's the comic so far, love?"

He peeked past the comic, setting it down and sighing right before he patted your head.

"I'm too stressed to really focus on it right now, with two classmates missing and the test we have in two weeks. AND I'm still working on the slideshow to prove that we're superior to that other class! That's a lot of work!"

He flopped on the couch, another sigh escaping his lips before turning into a gasp of surprise when you moved on top of him to lay your face on his chest.

"How about a little cuddling to relieve some of that stress, then?"

"Hmmmmnnnhhh..."

"I know you want to, to have a little break from it all..."

"Nnnnnnnnn..."

"I'm right here already half-cuddling you, my love."

"Fiiiiine."

He whined, but he wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your hair despite his initial protest. You could tell he still wasn't used to this with how fast his heart was beating through his chest, but you loved every bit of him

From the smallest hair to the largest organ.

He was perfect. He is perfect. Flaws were perks in your eyes. You love him.

You love him.

You snuggle against his chest, enjoying the warmth of the shared moment, the closeness, the scent of the clothes he wears, the firmness of his body. Everything.

No shame in taking a little nap.

A few minutes later, he had noticed you fell asleep, so he let a smile rise on his face before carrying you to your dorm.

(⓿◡⓿)

The next morning, you woke up with him by your side along with a few books. Oh, such a delightful sight, you wished you could just lock him up and keep him to yourself forever and ever...

But Neito wouldn't be Neito without the attention of the masses. The attention that made him glow with pride and joy, that gave him purpose. You understood, since he was your purpose anyhow.

"Good morning, my love."

You kissed his forehead and rubbed the crust out of his eyes as he woke up slowly, mumbling about something incoherent. You had your arms around him, which you retracted so he could sit up by himself.

"Feeling like having something for breakfast, love?"

He turned slightly to look at you.

Oh, how you loved those eyes and those lips. Not even the 'morning breath' could keep you from staring at those lips which sounded out 'crepe'. Crepes for breakfast? A classic. You were far too busy listening to his melodic tone than his actual words, so you hoped that you were correct.

"Crepes, huh? Alright," You sat up from the bed, stretching. It was pretty early in the morning, if the sun peeking over the horizon hinted towards anything. You stood up, looking towards him...

"Hmm. I can bring breakfast to you if you want-"

"Noooooo! I wanna watch you make em'..."

You grinned at how he whined and clung onto you even while he was still bleary from just waking up so early. He was clearly unused to waking up at this time, so you let him be.

"Okay, okay, and you can watch. Just don't touch the pan."

"Mmm-hmm."

He followed you out of the room and to the dorm kitchen, where you prepped the ingredients and washed from dishes from last night that your classmates probably forgot to do after dinner.

You let Neito choose what fruits and fillings he wanted in the crepe. He always chose the best things. He's perfect...

Soon after you finished washing the dishes, you took out a flat crepe pan from the cabinet, greasing it with butter and letting it heat it up on the stove before mixing the flour and other dry ingredients together.

Neito watched as you cooked, as you let the batter spread over the pan and how it cooked before you put it on a cutting board, put all the fillings inside and a small drizzle of syrup on top, and gave the finished crepe to him.

"Tell me when you want another, okay? I've got plenty of batter left."

"Okay!"

You focused on cooking, since everything you cooked for him had to be perfect. It had to be, only perfection was worthy of perfection, and to you, Neito was the pinnacle of all perfection.

Some of your classmates were roused by the scent of cooking. Of course you made crepes for them, but without any of the fancy flair you put in Neito's crepes.

Blatant favoritism, but it was excused since everyone knew you loved him. Just not how much.

"Man, Kendo would love these! Too bad she hasn't come back yet, along with Pony." said Tetsutetsu, while shoving a crepe into his mouth. He never really cared for taking time while eating, though it was a bit endearing.

"I think she'll be back eventually. We just gotta hold out hope."

Empty words came out of your mouth, because there was one thing you knew that nobody else didn't.

Pony Tsunotori and Itsuka Kendo weren't coming back.

Pony was sweet, but she saw too much. A witness. Witnesses had to be rid of.

They won't find the bodies.

That thought made the strawberry in your mouth taste both sweeter and sourer. A pity she had to go, but it was necessary. You couldn't risk her telling anyone.

You held Neito's hand for comfort. She'd never tell anyone anything ever again, and it was all for him.

================================================

I'm sorry Pony, and Itsuka, but sacrifices had to be made for the plot! ಥ_ಥ

[lesbianoms]

I kind feel like there’s an unspoken rule that safe vore and endo has become “sfw vore” and the kinkier side is generalized as fatal only. It feels like whenever someone has a vore kink they are also expected to be okay with digestion and death. I’ve found a handful of creators who make kinky endo content but it’s very few and far between and I just wish that “kinky” didn’t automatically register as “bones and murder and the screams of innocent prey >:)” because like that’s really distressing to me a lot of the time.

[3-2-whump]

The Auction Floor: Thomas Costa’s POV

Hi all,

In exchange for a chapter on the current timeline (a chapter I am still working on/fixing up before it is posted), I am posting a prequel chapter. Any and all prequel chapters will be found under 'Eternal, part 0.' They won't have nav arrows, but they will have an explanation to when in the story they take place, and a link to the masterlist to read more. Hope this system works for everyone!

This chapter happens slightly before, concurrently, and a little after The Auction Floor

TW/CW: death of a minor character (briefly mentioned), institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, nonconsensual nudity (nonsexual), minor whump (at time of story), creepy/intimate whumper(s) (sort of a multiple whimpers situation), manhandling (nonsexual) (towards the end)

Mob boss Luciano Antonio Costa – Boss Tony - had died, leaving mafia to his grandson, Thomas, to control. The newly-appointed heir didn’t look much like a typical Italian mob boss. With his blonde hair, steely blue eyes, and freckled fair skin, he hardly even looked Italian. However, the old boss never had any legitimate male heirs to pass the helm of leadership to, having only one daughter before his wife died. Although he begrudgingly accepted his daughter’s marriage to Tom’s father, an inconsequential gangster from the Irish mob, he had always intended to pass the family business onto his surviving grandson.

“I’m so sorry for your loss” began to lose its meaning after the fourth well-meaning chump, and unfortunately, Grandpa Tony’s funeral had a good turnout. “That was a beautiful eulogy,” one of many nameless faces sniffled. “You two must have been very close,” they’d said to him. Were we ever close, though? Thomas wanted to ask, remembering only the time they last fought. It may as well have been a lifetime ago when he was a teenager who turned his back on the family to try and live a straight life, but the guilt hung over him like a curse no matter how hard he had tried to run away from his fate as the next boss of the Costas. It was always about what he wanted me to be, not what I wanted. Never once was it ever about what I wanted to do with my life, he bitterly remembered. Even now, it was all about Grandpa Tony’s wants, as he accepted his role in leading the Costas. He cast a baleful glance at the casket as it slowly disappeared beneath the earth.You won, old man.

His underboss and a few of the capos, men that he had grown up with and who now supported him in running the large criminal organization, caught on to their new boss’ sour mood. Admittedly, it wasn’t hard to notice how intensely he scowled at the freshly filled-in grave. They suggested celebrating Thomas’ ascension to head of the family with drinks and a night out, but their idea of a night out was attending a black-market auction and maxing out the organization’s funds on frivolous shit. Powerful drugs, illicit weapons, plundered antiques, and –dear god, did Jaime just buy an arowana?! Thomas looked over the side of his whiskey glass disapprovingly.

He glanced over at a corner of the auction house that seemed to gather a large crowd. He shrugged and decided to join them to see the display. The crowd surrounded an entire floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, behind which stood people from all around the world, each divided into their own little compartments within the glass wall, each of them completely naked. The way they were displayed in those little glass tanks was oddly reminiscent of how fish were displayed at a pet store.

Get a pet, people had said to him. It’ll be good for you, they said, help lift your spirits, they said, if you’re responsible for keeping one little thing alive, maybe you’ll be more motivated to take care of yourself, they said. Surely those people had meant a cat or a dog or a python, and probably not an actual human being. Although, Thomas remembered the people giving him that advice were part of the major crime families of the city, too. Perhaps this was what they meant all along?

Regardless of what those people meant, it was a whole different thing to actually commit to owning a person. He’d never seriously considered it before, but now he found himself thoughtfully observing the merchandise behind the glass. Though there were a few people who were obviously adults, most of them were teens, and most them were girls, though there were a couple boys, too.

Whichever one he’d pick, they would have to be relatively attractive, if he was going to have to bear looking at them at the end of every day. He eyed a glass cell with a stunning blonde girl futilely trying to cover herself with her hands and ignore the gazes directed within her cell. Thomas pushed past the crowd and moved on; pretty girls like that would be swiped up immediately, so it wouldn’t even be worth the trouble to place a bid. The next cell held a freckled boy who leaned into the glass, fogging it up with his breath and writing ‘HELP ME’ over and over again with his finger. Thomas passed on that one, too. One by one he would find something wrong with the human assets behind the glass cases. Too shy, too desperate, not my type, that one just stares ahead and doesn’t even move…

He finally stopped around the last few cells, where a crowd had dissipated from in front of a glass cell with discontented murmurs. Inside that one crouched a small boy, knobby knees drawn to bony chest, thin, tan arms wrapped around his shins, and a head of messy dark hair resting on top his knees. The boy dared to look up from his hiding place. Loose, unruly waves of hair and thick, dark eyelashes nearly covered his expressive dark brown eyes. Those eyes hid nothing as they shone with fear. Thomas gripped the whiskey in his hand a little tighter. The child cut a striking image inside the glass prison, reminding him of a time and a place and an incidence he never liked to think about for long-

To his misfortune, his subordinates caught him staring. “Got your eye on the little slave, Tommy-Boy?” Luca asked as he sauntered up to him.

“Don’t call him that.” Even if that was technically what he would be, the whole concept still took a while for him to get used to. “I just think he’s cute is all,” he mumbled into his glass, draining it of the rest of the whiskey while he tried to convince himself the pink in his cheeks was only from the drink.

“Why don’t you place a bid?” Thomas whipped around to see Jaime lurking behind him. When did he get here? His eyes traveled down to the large picnic cooler on wheels, supposedly where Jaime’s new fish was. “Boss Tony, God rest his soul, left you quite the inheritance, I’m sure you can afford him,” Jamie snickered. He pointed to the sign above the glass cell, where the serial number and QR code were displayed prominently. “142225,” he read.

“Doesn’t he kind of remind you of-”

“You shut up. Right now,” Thomas warned.

“We’ll shut up once you place a bid, now come on! At least look up the little slave!”

Thomas sighed and whipped out his phone; the sooner he scanned the QR Code with the app the black market had made him download, the sooner his underlings would shut the hell up. A profile popped up on his phone screen, the men crowding comically around him to read over his shoulder. 142225 had been collected in Pakistan, was 5’1”, and weighed barely 90 lbs. at the last weigh-in.

“They like to starve the kids here,” Luca explained nonchalantly. “Makes it easier to control them.” Thomas glanced briefly at the thin boy inside the glass, frowning a little as he let that unsettling fact sink in. He quickly scrolled past the blood type, known allergies, and other information he deemed irrelevant to hover his thumb over the ‘PLACE A BID’ button.

“Well, go on, you know you want to!”

“He looks easy enough to take care of, and easy on the eyes, too!”

“We saw how enviously you stared at Matteo’s pet at the last New Year’s party, won’t it be nice to finally have one of your own?”

 Eventually, their peer-pressure resulted in the new mob boss placing a bid, becoming $30k poorer, filling out some ridiculous form about any last-minute body mods he may want, and waiting until the end of the night to collect his new slave and go home. His companions had left hours ago, and every other buyer had gotten their slave already, so it was just him waiting alone in an emptying warehouse, trying to make small talk with one of the event coordinators.

“So, does he have a name?”

She didn’t even look up from her tablet. “He’s named whatever you want to name him.”

“Where is he from? Besides the collection point, where’s he actually from?”

“We don’t know.”

“How old is he?”

“We don’t know.”

Thomas barely suppressed a groan. “Is there anything you do know?” he ground out impatiently.

“Yeah. He looks even cuter when he cries.” The woman smirked over her tablet, looking over Thomas’ right shoulder. “He’s here.”

Thomas turned around to see the boy, now clothed in a white T-shirt and bluish gray sweatpants. He kept his eyes downcast and his hands folded in front of him. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked up briefly before dropping his gaze back to his bare feet. “Khaled,” he replied, voice timid and heavily accented, “but you may call me whatever you want, sir.”

Khaled. He silently rolled the name around on his tongue as if savoring an exotic sweet. Khaled. Thomas cast what he hoped was a reassuring smile, not that Khaled saw it with his gaze fixed to the floor. “Luckily for you, I like your name.” He strode decisively toward the exit, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder to direct him. “Come with me, Khaled.”

In the nearly three-hour car ride back to Thomas’ home, the mob boss learned three things about his new purchase. Firstly, Khaled was shy, only speaking when spoken to and even then, using as few words as possible. Also, Khaled probably didn’t speak much English; how much of this was because he was shy, and how much of this was because he literally couldn’t understand him? And –finally, -Khaled could run. Since the moment the car parked, Khaled dashed out and sprinted into the street. He nearly got hit by a truck before Thomas could chase after him, pull him back, and drag him inside the apartment building. The scene of a grown man dragging a distressed kid who was screaming bloody murder probably shocked some residents, but fortunately the doorman was part of the Costas and did not bat an eye.

“It is too damn early for this!” Thomas complained to himself as he practically threw Khaled into the awaiting elevator. “Do you want to be leashed up like a dog, you little shit?! Cause that’s what’s going to happen if you keep trying to run away!”

“Let go of me, please!” the boy cried, his voice brittle and panicked like a scared, caged animal as he tried to twist out of the punishing grip on his arm.

“Like hell I’m letting you go, not after maxing out my personal credit card on you and pulling an all-nighter for the first time since Kandahar!” He violently jammed the buttons that would take them to the top floor of the high rise.

Soon the elevator dinged, doors swooshing open as they reached the floor of his penthouse. “Come on!” Thomas continued to drag the boy through the hallway, ignoring him begging in that endearing accent of his. Khaled’s complaints all but ceased as soon as he opened the door to his penthouse and let the boy step inside. His eyes widened, sparkling in awe, and his jaw dropped as he let out a reverent “whoa” that transcended any language barrier.

The living room to the penthouse itself was light and spacious, with large floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of natural light, and minimalist décor to accent the living room. A large L-shaped couch dominated the living room and looked over the expansive rooftop and the cityscape beyond it. The rest of the room terminated sharply into a dining area with a large oak table and a wood-floored kitchen with two large granite countertops. An imposingly large door –the door to Thomas’ bedroom, -stood closed to the left of the living room. A hallway to the right branched off into an office on one side, and a guest bathroom opposite. A small staircase right outside the laundry room led to a storage loft spanning above the entrance. Thomas toed off his shoes at the door. Khaled, who wasn’t wearing any shoes, hesitantly walked in. Tom frowned when he noticed the dirty footprints left behind on his beige rug.“Would you like a bath, Khaled?” he suggested. The fact that Khaled didn’t reply made him again wonder how much English he truly understood. We can work on that. He sighed in exasperation as he gripped the boy’s arm and dragged him off to the guest bathroom. Once inside, Thomas deposited him at the entrance and turned on the lights and the fan. He got the shower head running next. Khaled stood silently watching him by the door as he tested the water’s temperature with his hand a few times. He nodded in satisfaction as the water finally reached an agreeable temperature. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Khaled inched closer to the bath tub. “Can I take off your clothes?” he asked. The boy blinked, then shook his head as he quickly took off the shirt himself. The drab sweatpants soon followed, and he quickly stepped into the shower. Thomas drew the curtain to prevent water from spilling and to give him a shred of privacy. As the boy showered, he soon realized Khaled had nothing to wear but that depressing little t-shirt and sweatpants. He took them to the laundry room and chucked them in the hamper, making a mental note to buy some clothes for Khaled as soon as possible. Cute as the small naked boy was, he was still a minor, and Tom didn’t need any extra distractions while he was adjusting to his new role as Boss of the Costa Family.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump

[captainhysunstuff]

The saucy thing that L sees is below the cut~.

A little something for @dnkinktober. Not very explicit, but it could sorta satisfy the prompts of lingerie, slight roleplay, and implied voyeurism. I guess cock bulge? It's there. *shrug*

I literally saw this in a dream: that I was reading a doujinshi with this exact scene. It was me yelling at L instead of Ryuk, but still. Ryuk wants to get the show on the road! I'm sure they banged hard after L pulled himself back together. *nods*

Happy early birthday, L~.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Morning after and yeah, I hope whoever came up with the idea to kill Solar at the writer's table always has wet socks, their belt loop always gets stuck on the doorknob when they go through a doorway, and may their toaster always burn their bread or bagel.

I also hope Moon manages to pull himself out of depression and grieving over losing his best friend after a bit, reverses the dimensional collapse, and sacrifices Ruin in the process

[writingattemptsxx]

Demons in Grief (Pt.2)

MC is gone, so the side characters go through the five stages of grief.

—

Finally finished this, it took way to long.

—

Tw: Mentions of death

Denial

Diavolo couldn’t finish a thought. His denial is a mixture of many other states, just denied from finishing. What if?… No… Then maybe?… No… Endless strings in his mind of similar thoughts. His mind tries to go to how he could find a fix, yet his mind denies himself from going anywhere further as if hoping not thinking any further would prevent you from actually being gone or at least bring you back. He will stay his happy self and you'll be happy to see him like that when you come back, right?

Barbatos tries to work as normal. He feels the pain start to grip him. Its claws were starting to dig into his heart. His young master needs him more. The Devildom needs him more. He needs to stay sane more. More than he needs to feel. Diavolo tries to give him some time alone too so he can also cope, but feeling right now hurts. It hurts too much. He just won't feel, and maybe, in some way, you won't be gone to him then.

Solomon feels normal. Completely normal. Just normal. Nothing else. He continues and continues to tell himself that. He's been alive for thousands of years, so why would one person hit him so hard? It makes no sense to him. He got used to this pain so long ago. He feels just fine.

Simeon has been around for the lives of many humans. He knew you wouldn't last forever as well. He just has to remind himself of that. You weren't immortal, so it's definitely sad, but he knew it would happen. He just needs to calm down for a bit.

Luke doesn't want to cry. He knew you were human. He knew you were mortal. On top of that, he's big and strong. He doesn't need to cry. He's also totally not clinging to Simeon. No way. He's already always around Simeon, so this isn't different. He doesn't need to cry. He doesn't need to cry. He doesn't need to cry.

Anger

Diavolo tried to keep his smile, but while it may look the same, you could feel the pure rage he felt. When he was alone or with just Barbatos and the Little Ds, the smile faded and they could see his face match his aura. He became more snappy even with the flowery words he used to disguise it.

Barbatos’s face remains the same but his aura reads of nothing but anger. He still does what he can to be civil when he needs to be, but if he doesn't his smile feels like it could slice you in two. When he's in his room he feels tempted to rip open a door, go through it, and change what killed you, but he can't change the timeline for his pure greed, and it wouldn't change his original time, and that only made his rage worsen.

Solomon tries and tries to hide his anger. He tries to keep his funny self. He tries to bottle any anger. He bottles it and bottles it. Then, he snaps. He's angry at everything. You're gone. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it! Just come back! Please! Just… come home… come to him…

Simeon tries to stay neutral. Others need him to stand strong. He tries to stand strong. He can release his anger when he is alone if he actually needs to. Yet when he's in his room, he doesn't know how. So much is bottled up and the lid is on so tight. He does the only thing he can think of and throws a pillow across the room. Then everything pokes out and the throwing continues until the room is in chaos.

Luke is angry. His friend was taken. So many emotions flood him. So many emotions that he doesn’t know how to handle. He feels helpless. He doesn’t feel good wreaking anything or snapping at someone, so he just sits in his anger. He lets himself feel it, even if he doesn’t want to. It just hurts.

Bargaining

Diavolo tries to pretend everything is normal. If he pretends, then maybe, everything will be normal for him. His smile is strained and forced. He tries to block out every emotion other than joy. He was known for being a strong yet happy prince. You knew him for being a strong and happy prince. The Devildom needed their prince back. He needed himself back.

Barbatos tried to throw everything into his work. He didn't even know what he was thinking. He just knew he needed to think only of his job. Maybe it was so everything seemed normal again to him. Maybe it was so he didn't think of you or your death. He didn't know. He didn't want to know. Knowing may hurt him more than he was ready for.

Solomon tries to pretend that you're there. You just haven't shown up yet. You're probably giving the brothers or someone else grief for their chaos or maybe even indulging them. You aren't gone. Not just yet. He can't deal with that reality. He wanted to see you, so he'll just pretend he has to wait a little longer until he can.

Simeon tries to smile. He tries to push his emotions in a way that happiness will overcome. He pretends to recognize the sadness but doesn't let himself feel it. He just says he's looking on the bright side. He also tries to uncomplicate complex emotions. The sadness, anger, emptiness, and tons of other emotions he feels at your death turn into him just feeling sad, and he's felt sad before, right? So this is nothing he can't handle.

Luke wants to see you. He wants your warmth, your smile, and your kindness. He clings to anyone he can trying and trying to substitute that kindness for yours. It never works. He’ll cling to Simeon for a while, then as the substitute stops filling the hole, he clings to another. He even starts clinging to the demon brothers. Anyone. Anyone who can help.

Depression

Diavolo shatters. His energy from forcing a smile is gone. He's left with nothing. Not even the energy to hide his emotion. He does his work, but just gets it done. His work isn't overly sloppy, he is a prince after all, but it isn't up to his usual standards. He's typically stuck in his room or office. Not many see him outside anymore. He just doesn't know what he's doing anymore.

Barbatos feels empty. He gave everything to his job and now he's out of everything. He feels sad, he thinks, but he can't tell. Any feeling he may have is shrouded in a feeling void. When he's alone in his room he just ends up crying. He isn't sobbing, or making any sound, but tears fall. He doesn't understand why. He doesn't understand what he feels. He doesn't understand anything.

Solomon gave up. You aren't here and it hurts him. He cared about you a lot. He knew you weren't going to be with him forever, but he never realized it until you were actually gone. His mind repeats that you're gone on repeat and repeat and repeat. He spent time pretending you were here but you aren't. He wants you back to him so bad. He can't even focus on any spells. He curls up on his bed crying. Why? Why are you gone?

Simeon’s wall finally breaks. All the sadness and tears he's been pushing back breakthrough. He shuts himself in his room and just cries. He lived through many human lives, but yours was special to him. He lost someone he deeply cared for. He doesn't know what to do anymore. He isn't strong. He isn't able to just get through the feelings. He's weak and shattered. He has nothing to do but sob.

Luke cries. He feels alone. He doesn't know how to deal with anything he's feeling. Now he can cry at the smallest thing. He's lived through many human life spans, but never interacted with any of them. He's never experienced this. It hurt. All he knows right now is how to cry. So that's what he does. He cries, and cries, and cries.

Acceptance

Diavolo is finally able to return to a semi-normal. It still stings him, but he's come to terms with the sting. He doesn't think any of the pain he feels will truly ever stop, but it definitely dulled from the stab in the heart he felt. He continues all he can with the exchange program, even adding extra things in your name. From time to time, he wonders how you are wherever you are. He hopes you're ok.

Barbatos becomes the butler people know him as again. He's still hurt. He's still hurt a lot. He just has a better grasp on how to handle his feelings. He cared for you, yet you’re gone and he can't change that, and he's come to terms with that. His heart still has a hole, and it won't ever be filled again, but the scar will grow less sensitive. He looks back on what you did get done together, and he's happy he met you.

Solomon still wants you back, but you aren't going to be with him ever again, and that's something he can handle now. He shouldn't pretend you are going to appear, and he shouldn't just focus on the fact you're gone. your memory is a happy one for him. Together you had a lot of fun times. He's happy you existed.

Simeon is able to come to terms with the bitter-sweet truth. You were the human he paid attention to and deeply cared for, yet your life came to an end. He's still hurt and probably always will be, but he's learning to focus on the fact your existence gave him happy memories rather than the fact it ended. However, he isn't ignoring those feelings. He's able to be the strong angel he's known as again.

Luke is his bubbly self again. He lost a dear friend of his, but he's better at handling the pain now. He isn't alone and can come to others if he needs to. He likes to bake your favorite foods in your memory. He will even make some new ones based on your tastes and name it after you.

Their thank you

You helped Diavolo with his plan of piece and helped him stand taller as the future king.

You helped Barbatos focus more on himself, showed him the importance of memories in the passage of time, and gave him some of his own to cherish.

You gave Solomon another human he felt comfortable with, and didn't have to hide a part of himself from.

You showed Simeon the importance of self-indulgence and self-care.

You gave Luke a dear friend who he didn't feel looked down on or pitied with.

From the bottom of all of their hearts, “Thank you”.

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

Love is an open wound

Zevlor x Rolan, past Zevlor x Kanon.

Inspired by this post, which I misread. 🤦‍♀️

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, spoilers, mild canon divergence for Act 1, panic attack, nightmares, horror, body horror, semi-graphic depictions of violence, PTSD symptoms, nonconsensual enthrallment, nonconsensual use of the Calm Emotions spell (consent is given after), survivors guilt, (minor) character deaths, canon character deaths (more like Kanon character death).

______________________________________________________________

The Absolute had been defeated and peace, or as much peace that a city such as Baldur's Gate could hope to have, had been restored. Ravenguard had managed to purge the worst of the corruption which had infested the highest reaches of government, and the city had been rebuilt.

The tiefling refugees were thriving in the port-city. Alfira had almost a dozen music students. Dammon's forge had months worth of commissions lined up, with more coming in everyday. Rolan had become the Master of Ramazith's Tower and business was booming at Sorcerers Sundries. He had also recently opened a free public library that anyone was welcome to use— so long as they treated the books and scrolls with due care. Bex and Danis had recently adopted a cat. Zevlor had refound his faith and was a paladin once more.

Zevlor was also in a committed relationship with Rolan. To say he was shocked when the mage had approached him after the elder brain had been defeated and asked him on a date would be an understatement. Zevlor was dubious anent the younger man's desires; why would a powerful, young, handsome man like Rolan want an old, washed up, soldier such as him? But Rolan was nothing if not determined, and after much reassurance Zevlor allowed himself to give into his "selfish" desires, and now (just over a year and a half later) they were living together in Ramazith's Tower.

Zevlor had fretted about how Rolan's protective siblings would react to their brother dating an older man, but Cal and Lia welcomed him with open arms (after giving him a shovel talk). "He's had a crush on you since he hit puberty." Lia had told the old Hellrider, much to Rolan's chagrin.

Zevlor was elated to find that he got on well with the mage's siblings. Cal was delighted to have another level-headed person to diffuse Lia and Rolan's constant bickering. While Lia was eager to train with the old Hellrider. She had even privately thanked Zevlor for being a calming influence on her bristly brother.

"Rolan isn't as pissy now that the stick that was shoved up his ass has been replaced with your great sword."

(Zevlor couldn't look her in the eyes for 2 tendays.)

The commander had also befriended the local population of stray cats. Zevlor was fairly certain that most of them only saw him as a meal ticket, but there were a few who seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.

Life was good and Zevlor was content, most of the time. But sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of Rolan out of the corner of his eye, or he'd see the younger tiefling approaching with the evening sun brightly blazing behind him, and for a split second he'd swear that he'd seen Kanon.

The two young men were very different people, in both their looks and their personalities— but both of them sported shoulder length hair, and their horn structures were almost identical; making them look just similar enough that, in the right light, Zevlor would see brief glimpses of Kanon when he looked at Rolan.

These bittersweet moments made Zevlor's heart ache. Guilt and anxiety made his stomach churn. Zevlor was worried that he was somehow cheating on Rolan in his wistful reminiscing on his prior swain. He worried that he was trying to replace Kanon with Rolan. He worried that his previous feelings for Kanon were preventing him from fully loving Rolan in the way that the man deserved to be loved— wholly and without question.

Compounding his guilt, Zevlor hadn't told Rolan about Kanon— but there wasn't really anything to tell. He hadn't been in a romantic relationship Kanon. In truth they were nothing more than friendly acquaintances... But there was an undeniable mutual attraction between them, and they'd been getting closer. Their relationship had just begun to blossom into something more when Kanon was killed.

Unfathomable remorse filled the old Hellrider. Kanon should have never been on the ramparts with him, but he was because he and Zevlor were flirting. Gods damn it, the man didn't even have any armor on! How could Zevlor have allowed himself to be so negligent in his duties!? If Zevlor was even half the paladin that he thought he was in Elturel, then Kanon wouldn't have died on that wall.

Despite his best efforts, Zevlor often found himself ruminating over his actions on that fateful day.

As soon as Zevlor had spotted the goblins nearing the Grove he yelled out an order to open the gate— he had directed the order to Akra, who had armor on, but Kanon was closer to the windlass— and so he took it upon himself to try to save Aradin's sorry backside from certain demise.

Zevlor saw the goblins nocking their arrows, he should've realized that a man who was a tailor by trade wouldn't have the reaction time of a trained soldier. But instead of diving on top of Kanon to shield him from the incoming volley of arrows, Zevlor had crouched down and covered his own hide because he (incorrectly) assumed that Kanon would also duck for cover.

Helm's unsleeping eyes, he remembered Kanon's death in perfect, agonizing, detail. The horrid sound the young man had made when the first arrow struck him. The sickening squelch as it effortlessly pierced his unarmored flesh.

Kanon may have been able to survive the initial arrow, had the second arrow not struck true by slotting between his ribs and piercing his heart.

The anguished wail that Kanon's sister, Akra, emitted upon seeing her brother's demise haunted Zevlor in his dreams.

Zevlor's night terrors had been intensifying as of late. His nightmares had started to combine the horrors he experienced in Avernus with how he had failed his kinsfolk in the Shadowlands.

In his dreams the refugee tieflings were being slaughtered by demons while he dispassionately stood by, watching as their souls were dammed to perdition in the hells.

The felled tieflings surrounded him, and the only thing louder than their wails of pain and terror were their loathsome screeches of blame and anger. They demanded to know why he had let them die when he had promised to protect them. They castigated him for his cowardice. They lambasted him for his audacity in thinking that he deserved happiness. He didn't.

Other nightmares solely featured Kanon. His bloated and decaying corpse loomed over Zevlor as blood poured from his mouth while he stared accusingly at him with his dead, hate filled eyes. Kanon didn't need to say anything for Zevlor to know that he was angry with him for idlily standing by as his sister was murdered, to know that the young man (correctly) blamed him for their deaths.

And then a familiar sneer would twist Kanon's reddening face until it morphed into Rolan's unmarred visage.

"How long until you cause my death?" Rolan pointedly asked Zevlor as his face began to decay, sloughing off in grotesque chunks as 10,000 tormented voices emanated all at once from Rolan's rotting mouth when he accusingly screamed at Zevlor. "ł'₥ ₲Øł₦₲ ₮Ø ĐłɆ ฿Ɇ₵₳Ʉ₴Ɇ Ø₣ ɎØɄ!"

"NO!" Zevlor yelled as he shot up from bed. He couldn't breath, he couldn't seen anything other than the static that filled his vision. His ears were ringing so loudly that he couldn't hear anything else.

He was dead. He was dead and he was dammed to relive his failures over and over again for the rest of eternity. He had never actually escaped the hells. Tav hadn't rescued him from the mind flayer pod at Moonrise Towers. He was dead. He was-

A gentle wave of calm washed over the old Hellrider. He could suddenly breath again as the ringing in his ears quieted and the world around him came into focus. Rolan was in front of him, saying soothing words to him.

"He looks worried." Zevlor distantly thought.

"Just focus on my voice Zevlor. Good. We're going to breath together now, follow my lead." Rolan instructed him.

"Breath in." Rolan inhaled as Zevlor copied him. "And breath out."

They repeated the breathing exercise several times until Zevlor had fully returned to his body.

The former commander was drenched in sweat, his skin was clammy and cold. Zevlor's whole body was shaking from the aftershocks of his night terror.

It wasn't until Rolan carefully wiped the tears from his face that Zevlor realized he was silently crying.

A sudden, wretched sob erupted from the very depths of Zevlor's soul. Years of repressed emotions spilled forth from, unfettered by shame or pride.

Rolan held him tight. It felt as though his love was the only thing holding Zevlor together as he was soothingly rocked in the mages arms.

Zevlor must have fallen asleep— as an indeterminate amount of time later he was gently roused from his slumber by Rolan, who handed him some water and softly ordered the old soldier "Drink."

Zevlor nodded in both acquiescence and a gesture of gratitude as he silently accepted the cool glass of water from the other man. He hadn't realized how parched he was until he started drinking. It took more restraint than he'd like to admit to swallow the refreshing liquid at a moderate pace instead of desperately chugging it.

When Zevlor was done drinking he handed the glass back to Rolan, who put it on the nightstand.

"You didn't put a coaster under it." He told Rolan.

"What?" Rolan asked.

"The glass," Zevlor said as he pointed to the offending object "you didn't put it on a coaster, it'll leave a mark if you leave it like that."

Rolan's face skewed in... confusion? Incredulity? Bewilderment?

"I know that you don't like water rings on the furniture, that's why I pointed it out." Zevlor lamely added, fearing he had offended his romantic partner.

"Zevlor, dear," Rolan said slowly, as though he was speaking to Minsc someone whose mental faculties were chronically understaffed. "I don't give a cranium rat's ass about potential condensation rings right now, I am worried about you." Rolan replied in baffled, albeit fond, exasperation.

"You are?" Zevlor asked.

"Yes." Rolan answered while looking at Zevlor as though he'd grown another horn. "I woke to you thrashing around in your sleep from terrible night terrors, I tried to wake you but I was unable rouse you. Then you suddenly bolted upright while screaming in a terror-stricken, anguished voice."

Rolan took a deep, steadying breath before he continued.

"You were nonsensical, saying that you were dead and being tormented in the hells or that you were still trapped in a mind flayer pod. Your eyes were open but they weren't seeing." Rolan shakily told him.

"Oh." Was all Zevlor could think to respond.

"I couldn't get though to you, so I used Calm Emotions on you in the hopes that it would free you from wherever your mind had you trapped. I'm sorry I used my magic to to control your emotions, but I didn't know how else to help you." Rolan said.

It was Zevlor's turn to look at Rolan as though he had grown another horn.

"Why are you apologizing?" Zevlor asked, but continued to talk before Rolan could reply.

"You pulled me out of a very unpleasant place. You shouldn't be apologizing, I should be thanking you." He said as he gently thumbed Rolan's bottom lip, stopping him from worrying it between his teeth.

"I..." Rolan started, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I used a spell to control you, to control your emotions, without your consent." He said.

"I was hardly in a place where I could consent Rolan." Zevlor dismissively replied, then, upon seeing guilt fill Rolan's eyes, quickly added "But I am glad that you did! Your spell helped me immensely!"

When Rolan responded it was with carefully chosen words, though whether they were purely for Zevlor's benefit, or if they were a byproduct of Rolan working though his own emotions, was hard to say.

"You've told me some of what happened in the Shadowlands. I was... concerned that my actions may have been similar to, or reminded you of... the time when you were nonconsensually controlled by the elder brain."

Zevlor blinked in surprise, and even as the familiar feelings of guilt and remorse bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, the warmth that filled him from the younger man's tender concern caused Zevlor to softly smile.

"I promise you, the circumstances here are very different from... that instance." Zevlor said, causing a small grimace to flash across both of their faces.

"I don't feel as though you violated my autonomy." Zevlor resolutely told Rolan, as he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss between his pinched brows.

Rolan sighed with palpable relief, his face smoothing.

"Do you want to talk about your night terrors?" Rolan asked.

Zevlor sighed as he responded, "Not particularly, but I probably should."

Rolan kissed the old Hellrider's forehead and then told him "Take all the time you need love." as he intertwined his and Zevlor's tails together.

After a few minutes of gathering his thoughts, and his courage, Zevlor began to tell Rolan about his nightmares. The younger man listened attentively, holding Zevlor's hand all the while.

"Before I continue relaying the contents of my nightmare, there is something you should know. Someone that I haven't told you about yet." Zevlor cautiously said.

After Rolan nodded in acknowledgment, Zevlor began to tell him of his and Kanon's not-quite-relationship.

"You remember Kanon, yes?" Zevlor asked, continuing after Rolan nodded, "Well he and I... We... We weren't together, but..."

Zevlor trailed off, his courage leaving him as his self doubt began to overwhelm him.

"Zevlor, are you trying to tell me about how you and Kanon danced around each other as you both obliviously, and obviously, pined for one another?" Rolan asked with a bit of amusement slipping into his voice despite his efforts to rein it in.

Zevlor's eyes were as wide saucers when he asked "You already knew!?"

Rolan let his smile slip as he answered "Zevlor, everyone knew. It was painfully obvious that you two had alchemy with each other. I'm fairly certain that Mol's gang were running a betting ring on when you two would finally start dating."

Embarrassed, Zevlor indignantly asked "And no one said anything!?"

"No." Rolan shrugged. "There wasn't much entertainment to be had on the road. Of course I didn't partake in such jejune activities. But I knew of your feelings for him, and his for you. I think everyone except you two knew."

Zevlor stared at Rolan as though he had just told him that the sky was lime green.

"You knew that I had romantic feelings for Kanon?" He asked, needing to clarify what he had just heard.

Rolan looked at Zevlor with a mixture of sympathy and tenderness. "Yes Zevlor, I knew."

"It... it doesn't bother you?" Zevlor hesitantly asked.

"No, Zevlor. It doesn't bother me." Rolan reassured him.

The floodgates opened once more as Zevlor began sobbing.

He told Rolan of what had happened that day. How he blamed himself for Kanon's death. How he was worried that he was using Rolan as a replacement. How he sometimes saw Kanon when he looked at Rolan.

Zevlor came clean about everything. His fears, his doubts, his regrets. How he didn't think he deserved to be happy when he was the reason so many had died.

And Rolan listened without judgement. At times he looked shocked, or angry at the circumstances life had put Zevlor in, or sadness for what he had lost— but he was never resentful.

Eventually Zevlor had confessed everything he'd been hiding from Rolan to him. Despite feeling exhausted Zevlor felt lighter than he had in a very long time.

But of course the reprieve from his self-flagellation only lasted for a few moments.

As Zevlor's senses returned to him so too did his shame. He was a commander of the Hellriders, damnit. How could he be so weak?

HIs self-loathing was unceremoniously interrupted when Rolan none-too-gently flicked his forehead.

"Stop that." Rolan firmly told him.

Zevlor did not pout as he snuggled closer, embarrassed at having been called out for his self-denigration— causing the mage to quietly chuckle and kiss Zevlor's forehead in apology.

"I've covered you with my snot and tears." Zevlor pointed out.

Rolan's voice betrayed his disgust, "I am aware."

Zevlor snickered at Rolan's disgruntled tone.

And by the next morning all traces of Zevlor's bodily secretions had been magicked away.

Zevlor woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

"About time you've woken up, you slugabed." Rolan lovingly teased.

Zevlor hid his smile underneath the blanket as he replied "You young people these days, so disrespectful to your elders."

Rolan made a noncommittal noise as he drank his coffee.

"Mmm, I am very disrespectful— so disrespectful that I graciously brought you a fresh cup of coffee to lazily enjoy in bed." he said good naturedly.

The promise of caffeine inspired Zevlor to fully wake up.

Rolan tittered as he handed the now awake Hellrider his coffee.

Their eyes locked as Zevlor accepted the warm cup from him. The adoring look Rolan gave him soothed his soul in a way that words could not.

He knew that they were okay. They'd probably discuss what he'd revealed the night before, but they would be okay.

They were more than okay. They were good.

Life was good, and it was going to get even better.

[purgatory-is-life]

Mechtober Day 14/prompt 14-Alternate Universe

if i need to single handedly populate this fandom with urban fantasy aus by the gods i will

@mechtober-2024

An Average Day 'Round Here, Really - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

tw, my poor attempts at using british vernacular with my very limited knowledge of it as an american, cursing, arguing (mostly jokingly), mentioned alcohol, implied alcohol consumption, blood, blood consumption, non-con blood drinking, minor unnamed character death, probably more, feel free to ask me to tag something!!

Brian woke with a groan, and something heavy on top of him. He cracked an eye open, glaring at whichever one of his flatmates it was that decided to wake him up this time. It turned out to be Raphaella. He glanced at his clock–eleven AM. Too early, by his standards, but he did have some classes that day, so he would’ve had to get up at some point.

“What do you want, Raph?” He asked, voice thick with sleep.

“Do you have the chem notes from Friday?” she asked, staring up at him with wide, unblinking eyes. His still freshly-woken up and foggy mind thought she looked a lot like a bird, like one of those falcon’s Tim’s constantly sending pictures of.

Brian stared back at her. “Raph. You couldn’t wait for two hours for me to wake up with my alarm to ask that?”

“My chem lab is at noon!” She defended. “And you almost never get up before noon.” She poked him on the nose. “It was much easier to wake you up, insomniac. You need to work on your sleep schedule.”

“I at least get a consistent amount of sleep,” Brian grumbled, “how much have you slept recently?”

Raphaella quickly turned her head, waving her hand dismissively. “Not important! My chem lab is in an hour, do you have the notes or not?”

Brian curled up further under his sheets, humming quietly and closing his eyes again as if he’d be able to get any more sleep. “In the yellow notebook, on my desk. Hundredth page in.”

“Ah! Thank you, dearest,” Raph kissed his forehead and jumped off him, scurrying towards his desk.

“Mhm…”

Raphaella grabbed the notebook, and left the room. There was a brief moment where Brian could almost fool himself that he was asleep, before Raph came back into his room. “Do you… want me to turn your light on to help you wake up or…?”

Brian groaned, and pulled one of his pillows over his head. “Please let me at least try to get my last two hours of rest!”

“Okay, sorry!” And then Raphaella actually left him alone to get some more sleep.

—-- By the time his alarm went off, Brian had been playing a random game on his phone for at least an hour and a half. At some point in his attempts to get back to sleep, he’d given up and began playing on his phone. However, with his phone vibrating aggressively and playing one of Toy’s newer songs loudly, he couldn’t get away with hiding any longer, and he forced himself to get up.

He sat up, stretching his arms, back popping as he did so. He swung his legs, testing his knees. Finding they didn’t ache as much as usual, he decided to venture out into the living area of the apartment without his cane. As he entered the living room, it was just as he expected–chaotic. And loud, he was honestly surprised he hadn’t noticed before, while he was still hiding in his room.

Everyone in their friend group was there– while Brian, Marius and Raph were technically the only ones on the lease, it was admittedly more unusual if there weren’t at least six people in their flat at once. Typically, all nine of them were in at once, but Raph had a few labs on Monday’s and Nastya had one of her computer science classes in the afternoon on Mondays, so it was only the seven of them on Monday afternoons. Eight, if Marius convinced Lyfrassir to come around, or they’d stayed the night. Nine, at most and if they were lucky, and Bertie was visiting from his campus.

Currently, Jonny was laying on top of Ashes while rambling about something from his creative writing class, maybe something about his teacher who he hated. Apparently, he was kind of a jackass, but it was Jonny, and Jonny was prone to exaggeration, so he could’ve been fine. Toy and Marius were playing chopsticks while debating something in German, Ivy was reading a book while sitting upside down on the couch, and Gunpowder was cooking something.

Ashes was the first to notice his emergence, as he made a beeline for the coffee pot. “Morning, doll,” Ashes called, smirking. Brian rolled his eyes at them.

“It’s afternoon,” Brian pointed out, “that’s the point. I don’t like getting up early.”

“It’s still fun to bother you about,” Ashes said. He could hear the grin in their voice. Brian rolled his eyes again, and set about making his coffee, being careful to move around Tim while he-they?-continued cooking.

“Pronouns?” Brian asked, starting his cup.

“She/he, thanks,” Gunpowder smiled, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “So you’re finally awake?”

“Oh, you can’t talk, Timopher,” Brian flicked the other on the head. She groaned at that.

“Not you too! I’m going to kill Jonny for getting you all started on that!”

Brian grinned, but didn’t say anything more. Tim pouted, but returned to his cookery. The smell of bacon hit Brian’s nose as something started sizzling on a pan, and his stomach growled at him. Gunpowder noticed, and tilted his head at him as Brian grabbed a mug from one of the cabinets. “D’you want some of this? I can make more, it’s just eggs, some toast, and bacon.”

Brian shook his head as he poured his cup of coffee. “No, thank you. I was planning on getting something on my way to my anatomy class.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, glancing at him over his glasses. “Your anatomy class is at three. It’s almost one-fifteen. You have time to eat a proper breakfast.” Brian waved her off as he took a sip of his coffee. Tim wrinkled his nose. “Brian. One-coffee isn’t breakfast. Two-black coffee? Seriously?”

Brian shrugged. “It’s better than coffee ice cream for breakfast.”

Gunpowder rolled her eyes, pinching her nose. “It’s not- I’m not doing this. And besides, that was one time during finals last year. I don’t think any of us had a consistent amount of sleep or a consistent amount of food in our stomachs.”

“The woes of being a college student,” Brian said, taking another sip of his coffee and walking towards the adjoining living room.

“Yea- wait I’m not done lecturing you–!”

But Brian was already sitting down next to Ivy and ignoring her complaints. “Good afternoon, Brian. Did you sleep well?”

“Would’ve slept better if Raph didn’t wake me up, but mostly, yeah.”

Ivy nodded. “I apologize, I was the one to tell Raphaella to ask you for the notes. I forgot how much you dislike being woken up early.” She turned another page in her book.

“It’s fine, Ivy, I’ll just try and go to bed a bit early tonight.”

“I believe it’s a misnomer to say you sleep at night–you go to bed most often at four AM.”

Brian–couldn’t deny her there. “Is it comfortable, sitting upside down like that?” he asked instead.

“It is plenty comfortable for me. Thank you for your concern, though.”

Brian nodded, and took another sip of his coffee. The still-scalding liquid burned in his throat, and behind it a thirst he’d been doing his best to ignore burned as well. He’d have to do something about it soon–the… thirst? Hunger? He still wasn’t sure what to call it, nearly two years later–either way, he’d have to do something about it soon, it was getting hard to ignore.

Gunpowder came into the room with a plate of food, flopping onto the couch next to (almost on top of) Ashes. “Oh, by the way,” she started, “I’m going to be visiting Bertie over the next few days, I’m heading out a bit later, so I might not be able to make it to band practice on Thursday.”

“Have fun,” Jonny said, reaching over to Tim’s paper plate and taking some of the bacon for himself.

Tim swatted at Jonny’s hand, sticking his tongue out at the other. Jonny stuck his tongue out at her. Brian smiled at his friends' shenanigans–not quite dumbassery, but a very similar brand of chaos. Though, dumbassery usually ended with someone injured and an argument about whether or not a trip to A&E was necessary. And a kidnapping to take someone to A&E, but that was neither here nor there.

“Tell Bertie we say hello,” Ivy said, as Brian glanced over at Marius and Toy, who were still completely absorbed in their game and debate.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll know,” Tim shrugged as Jonny–successfully, this time–stole some of Gunpowder’s bacon.

Tim didn’t notice at first, but when she did, she immediately turned on Jonny. The other grinned, which only annoyed Tim more. Brian decided that was a good moment to down the rest of his scalding coffee, and get up to get dressed. “Do you think I can get away with not wearing my binder today without my chem lab supervisor misgendering me?”

Ivy glanced up from her book and raised an eyebrow at him.

“…Yeah, fair enough…” Brian sighed. He didn’t really care one way or the other about wearing his binder or how people perceived him, but sometimes it got tiring getting misgendered by people around him. Oh well, he wouldn’t have to wear it all day. Brian glanced back at Gunpowder and Jonny, and saw that Tim had completely ditched his breakfast, and was now wrestling with Jonny while Ashes took her bacon. All in all, a normal day, really.

—--

Brian hated the sun. Without a doubt, he hated the sun. It was hot, it was bright and hurt his eyes, and it made him tired. Really, besides it providing light for the rose bushes he’d been trying to grow out of his flat’s window box, he had no reason to like the sun. Except for the fact that most of his friends were awake when the sun was up, but most of his friends had absolutely god awful sleep schedules, and Brian was half certain Raphaella was more willing to do hard drugs than sleep when she could be ‘science-ing’. So, really, other than the roses needing sunlight to grow, he really didn’t have any reason to appreciate the sun. So, naturally, with such a hatred of the sun, he did his best to avoid it, but sometimes he was forced to face the burning ball of hydrogen gas and plasma.

The latest anatomy class he could get was at three, and thus he was forced to face the sun at least twice a week on Mondays and Thursdays (for his bio-chem class, which was at two-thirty) if he wanted to actually gain that pre-med he’d been working towards since Secondary. At the very least, with the weather changing and slipping more into the icy chill of fall and winter, the amount of time he’d have to face the sun was lessened. Which he was grateful for, even though the sun had long since begun to set as he made his way home from his last monday class (he also had a chem lab on mondays, but it was at a different time than Raphaella’s) at six in the evening.

When he returned to the flat, placing his bag by the door and tossing his jacket on the coat wrack. With a quick glance around the flat’s living room, he noted that everyone was there with the exception of Gunpowder. She must’ve already headed off to Bertie’s campus. Lyf was there, sitting on the couch braiding Raphaella’s hair while she braided Marius’s hair, and Marius scribbled something down while Nastya played her viola. Jonny and Ashes were cooking something, though he could hear Jonny saying he was gonna head out once the food was done. Toy was laying on the floor on top of Ivy, both of whom were reading different books. Toy was reading a book that appeared to be about different species of frogs, and Ivy seemed to be reading something about mice. Which did nothing to narrow down what she was reading.

Lyf glanced up from their work, briefly, and nodded at him as he entered. Brian smiled and waved, continuing his walk to his room.

“Brian!” Ashes called, peaking leaning on the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. “You gonna want any o’ this, doll?”

“Oh!” Brian hummed. “No, probably shouldn’t–I told Galahad I’d go out for drinks with him and some of his friends.”

“The Pendragons, again?” Ashes raised an eyebrow as Jonny pouted, turning to face him as well.

“Yeah,” Brian nodded. He glanced at Jonny and smirked at him. “What’s with the pout, dear?”

Jonny scoffed, face turning a bright red. “Fuck off! I put in all this work and you ain’t even gonna try any?”

Brian’s smirk softened. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t realize you were making dinner for us tonight. Save some for me?”

Jonny huffed and nodded, turning back to his cooking and waving him off. Brian glanced into the pot, trying to decipher what it was that he and Ashes were cooking. It looked like some kind of stew. With that mystery kind-of solved, Brian headed to his bedroom to change into something a bit more bar-appropriate.

He did have somewhere to be, afterall. While the night was young.

—--

Brian, along with the sun, hated bars. Their smell was rancid, there were always too many people and they were always too close, Brian hated bars. More specifically, he hated getting hit on at bars. And yet, here he was, in a back alley behind a bar making out with some random drunk person. They were-probably a man? And definitely older than him, but Brian wasn’t picky with his snacks.

Though, in times like these, he found himself often missing his friends–“the Crew”, as Jonny sometimes called them.

Their relationship was… Well, it was something. He could probably write a philosophy thesis on it, actually. And it wouldn’t be fair to say they weren’t open, by no means were whatever-they-were a closed relationship. But maybe it wasn’t fair to say whatever they had was open, either? Since it wasn’t exactly defined in most areas.

Tim and Bertie were something, though Gunpowder refused to elaborate further. Tim and Jonny were dating(?)–that’s literally how they described it, too–Jonny was willing to have sex with most of them except Nastya (for obvious reasons. Ew), whereas Marius was usually the opposite, he’d take everyone out on dates and plan elaborate dinners or lunches or breakfasts or brunches, whatever meal it was, but sex was a very inconsistent desire for him. Brian was generally the same way, though a bit less… dramatic, about it. His planned dates were always much less extravagant than Marius’s. Nastya was exclusive with her long-distance girlfriend, but she and Brian kissed sometimes, and he knows that she and Ivy also do the same on occasion. Toy was odd, but it was always sweet and it was involved in the relationship chaos in all the ways that mattered, it deserved a place in this train of thought. It didn’t exactly feel romantic or sexual attraction, but had expressed that it loved the Crew all deeply and truly, and always tried to help and show its care in whatever ways it deemed to be effective.

Ashes had something with everyone, but it looked different depending who of the Crew they were with, Raph and Ivy were dating, Marius was starting to date Lyffrassir, which actually seemed to be going pretty well compared to previous romantic exploits outside the Crew of his, Marius, Ivy, and Raphaella were dating, and all of them were just… generally pretty touchy feel-y? It was always weird to see one of the Crew and not see at least two others nearby. And dating or being fuckbuddies with one of them generally meant having to share with the rest at least, and if not, being roped up a lot more tightly in their web of weirdness (as Lyf had once called it). Lyf was still new, but they seemed to get along with everyone pretty well, and had even made out with Brian on a few occasions, and he’d definitely seen them leaving Raph’s room with tousled clothes and hair in the early morning while he was still awake, shortly followed by Ivy or Raph–or both.

All that to say, there were about nine other people that Brian could be kissing that he’d much rather be snogging behind a dingy bar. The probably-a-man reached up and curled a lock of his hair around their finger. “You’ve got such pretty hair, doll,” they said, breaking the kiss.

The stench of whiskey was heavy on their breath–it was amazing they were coherent at all–and Brian was hit with two twin pangs of longing, one with an equal measure of anger. Only Ashes got to call him doll. Brian would have to try and finish this quickly, even if he didn’t really want to hurt them. They hadn’t done anything yet. Except– well, except agreeing to makeout with a college student in a back alley. Brian had to force himself to not wrinkle his nose at the whiskey smell that came with each of their heavy breaths–that was a scent that was only kinda sexy on Jonny–there was no way he wasn’t going to be at least a little tipsy after everything was over. Which–might sell his excuse about going out for drinks with Galahad and the Pendragon Polycule better than coming home sober.

“Thanks,” Brian replied quietly, “a friend of mine does it for me.” Ivy had been dying her hair forever, and was therefore the most apt member of the Crew to aid in taking care of everyone’s hair when they were too Tired to do it themselves for one reason or another. It was always relaxing, her hands running through his hair as she washed it for him in either the bathroom sink or the flat’s tub–he had a lot of hair and was very inconsistent about cutting it to various lengths. It seemed to make his joints stop hurting and his head less achey. She’d probably say something about endorphins and serotonin and relaxing–or maybe Raph would, no telling who.

“Oh?” they responded, clearly uninterested.

“Mhm,” Brian nodded. “Hey, did you know that the scales of most sharks, placoid scales, are made up of largely the same enamel as what makes up teeth? So some people call their scales teeth scales.” Brian knew approximately four people who called them that, and one of them was studying marine biology. And the other three were Raph, Galahad, and Jonny. Actually, he’d heard Marius call them teeth scales before– or, no, he’d called them teeth skin. That still counted, he supposed. So, five people, on a technicality, probably six soon once Toy picks it up. He was surprised it hadn’t already, actually. ���I’ve even heard some people call them teeth skin. Although they don’t eat with their skin, like some animals.”

Whatever direction the probably-a-man expected this conversation to go, this was certainly not it. They stared at him in confusion, pausing in twirling his hair in their hand. Well, that was what he was wanting, confusion and surprise. He was running out of odd animal facts though–Toy hadn’t given him any new bug facts in a while and it was more focused on trying to find frog facts that none of the Crew had heard before (which was harder than it seemed) and Lyffrassir was just generally hesitant to start infodumping about marine biology around anyone other than Marius it seemed. All this to say, Brian was thinking about getting a better method to throw people off their game.

He was overthinking this innocuous piece of information, he knew. Stalling. The confusion wouldn’t last long, the person’s inebriated mind probably already forgetting why they’re confused in the first place. He was hesitating, but god or gods above, his stomach ached with want. And yet, he was hesitating. He should really be used to this by now–he’s been doing this for two years at this point. Just– stop thinking, and do it.

“Well–” the person started, but didn’t get to finish as Brian lunged for their throat, sharp fangs easily piercing the delicate, human flesh. Their words, and their scream, died in their throat as he did so. They thrashed and tried to push him away, but being the inhuman thing he was, he was stronger and was able to hold them in place until they stopped trying to fight, as he drained their lifeblood through the gaping, gushing wound in their neck.

He always hated it, hated feeding off of and killing people. But if he didn’t, he could starve, and starving looked much worse than killing one or two people a month–he’d tested it. At least twice.

It was several minutes until the person fully went limp, but there was still blood and Brian was still hungry, even if he knew he was overindulging and going to feel sick and even more achey than usual later. Eventually though, as the now-corpse was starting to run dry (some part of himself, the part that was a starving, ravenous thing, wanted to drain as much as he could, and knew that there was surely more blood in the body that was just harder to get too–he ignored that part vehemently), Brian let the corpse drop and stepped back, staring blankly at the corpse.

He did this every time, taking a second to stare at the mess he left. Take a minute to revel in how awful he was.

A voice snapped him out of his post-feeding haze. “Oh~ I know that smell~!” Brian’s head snapped up to the end of the alley, eyes widening and body freezing in place. “What do we have– Brian?”

Jonny stared at him with glowing, red eyes, confusion written on his face.

Shit.

[summerfireworksandmycorpse]

OOC - Art of Satsuki’s death

[detective-luca-montoya]

AMESS Profile: David Alicant

David Adam Alicant was a former medical doctor turned kidnapper. Before his turn to crime, he was close with his colleague Thomas Weatherby, and their daughters (Fiona Alicant and Thea Weatherby) became close friends. Unfortunately, Thea suffered from a rare blood disease, and died during her stay at St. Benedict's Hospital.

Enraged by the loss of his daughter and blaming Thomas for her death, David murdered Eliza and Thomas Weatherby and attempted to kill Thea, but the girl escaped. He later kidnapped her to act as a surrogate child.

Thea, taking on the name of her deceased friend Fiona, was unaware of her true parentage for years following the accident, and suffered abuse at the hands of a jealous David until she managed to escape at the age of 13 and was taken in by the local community of witches. When David attempted to recapture her, he was killed, finally ending Fiona's years of torment.

[stinknoodle]

Just One Dance

Summary: Steve bumps into you after dropping Dustin off at the Snowball and decides to stop and catch up, unintentionally uprooting long forgotten feelings within the both of you.

Fic Flavor: Childhood friends to lovers(kinda), mutual pinning, mild angst

Word Count: 5,316

As Steve pulled away from the gym entrance, jaw clenched, he spotted a familiar form in the distance, one he hadn't taken in for a while. You were perched on the edge of the sidewalk, your leather jacket pulled tight around your body and a cigarette in hand. He frowned, this was an odd hour to be sitting alone outside. With recent events weighing heavily in his mind, he pulled up to park about a yard away. He'd just check up on you, maybe offer to give you a ride home, just in case. He only harbored fond memories of you and the thought of something bad happening to another person he knew made his stomach turn.

As he approached, you didn’t take notice. A skateboard, your skateboard, sat upside-down on the road, pushed against the sidewalk. The bottom was decorated and seemingly hand painted, your name in an edgy font surrounded by haphazard doodles of skulls and flowers and all sorts of other clashing designs. Your shoulders jumped slightly when you finally became aware of his presence.

"Uh- hey." He greeted awkwardly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Much to his relief, a wide grin split across your face. "Well, well, well, if it isn't King Steve, in the flesh."

He scoffed lightly at the faux title, choosing pointedly to not comment on it; the only thing he'd felt like "the king" of lately was the losers. "Glad to see you haven't changed too much, (Y/N)."

Which isn't to say you hadn't changed at all, you held yourself very differently than the last time you had really talked. You sported some new piercings and dark eye makeup that made the color of your eyes pop. A couple chains hung loosely at your belt loops and a few wrapped about your neck. The alternative style you'd taken to was starkly different to the softer, preppier one you had worn the last time he had checked, but then again that was, what, eighth grade? He tried to not be too surprised. You seemed much more comfortable in your skin now anyways; it was pleasant to see.

"What's Mr. Harrington doing out here all alone on this fine night, hm?" You tilted your head with a smirk.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Just dropping off a, uh, friend at the Snowball." It felt a little weird to call Dustin a friend, but at this point it would be weirder to call him anything but.

"Ah," You grimaced slightly, "s'that why you look like a kicked puppy?"

"What?" He snapped, a little more irritably than he had meant to, immediately regretting the tone.

Thankfully, you held your hands up in mock surrender and chuckled. "Sorry, I just saw Nancy in there and assumed. Teach me to make assumptions."

"No it's-" He sighed, dragging a hand down his face, "it's fine, I'm sorry."

You shifted a bit and leaned back on your free hand. "You are forgiven, your highness. Care to take a seat with a lowly peasant, have a smoke?" You offered up the cigarette with a friendly grin. 

He sat next to you gratefully, hesitating a moment before taking the cigarette from you and taking a long drag. The quiet between you was filled with the distant thrum of music wafting from the gym. Your shoes tapped the pavement, but there was no anxiety to the movement; it was more like you were bursting with energy that your body was hardly containing. It had always been like that with you, though you had tamped it down more in your younger years.

"Do you remember our Snowball?" You suddenly spoke up, a fond smile on your lips. You weren't looking at him, but at the hole in the thigh of your black jeans, which you were picking at with bored hands.

"Uh, kind of." He shrugged, the memory felt so distant now.

Suddenly your gaze shot up, your grin widening impossibly. "Wait, do you not remember?"

He blinked at you, brows slowly knitting together as he tried to scrounge for what you could be talking about.

You laughed easily, catching yourself on his shoulder as you leaned back from the intensity of the movement. "Holy shit, you really don't! That's fucking wild!"

"What are you talking about?" He finally relented, cheeks flushing lightly with embarrassment. You gently plucked the cigarette from his hand, taking a short pull from it before pushing the smoke through your teeth.

"Way back when, I asked you to go to the Snowball with me. You said yes." You snickered as you watched recognition slowly leak back into his face. "Then, when we got there, you completely ignored me. Didn't even dance with me once."

Guilt boiled through his stomach and up his chest, remembering vaguely with horror. "Oh, God, right. I- I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be!" You laughed again. He didn't understand, especially as you propped a warm arm up on his shoulder, looking up into the sky with a fond expression on your face. "It's kinda funny now. I mean, obviously it was absolutely devastating at the time, but now I look back at it and laugh. I mean, what did I think would happen?"

His frown deepened, confusion marking up his face. "How is that funny?"

Your smile didn't falter as you turned your gaze to him. "Just- what did I expect? You're Steve Harrington and I'm- well, I'm me." You shook your head and chuckled, lowering your gaze to your lap. You sucked in another breath of smoke and blew it out of the corner of your mouth. He didn’t miss how you used the present tense in your statement, implying that this was still a current dilemma.

Quiet fell over you once more, but this time there was a mild tension to it. Steve floundered for a way to express the thoughts in his head as he recalled that night.

"I'm sorry I did that to you, it was really shitty of me to ditch you." He spoke genuinely, picking at the sidewalk.

You glanced at him with a funny look and you shook your head. "Nah, there's no hard feelings, really. I just get it now, y'know?" You shrugged. "It's probably for the best you crushed that when you did, we would've never ended up suiting each other."

"What does that mean?" It stressed him out how casually you sold yourself short. You tapped the ashes off of the tip of the cigarette on the thick sole of your shoe and placed it into his hand in favor of toying with a safety pin on your jacket.

“I really liked you, Steve. Like, a lot.” You smiled. Before he could respond, you continued on. “But, if you had indulged me even a little, I’m certain things would have turned out much worse. You let me down arguably easily, I never would’ve survived the popularity you garnered.”

He let the words settle in for a bit before he shook his head. “I wouldn’t have let anyone give you shit.”

You smiled appreciatively, but still mirrored him with the shake of your head. “Nah, look at us. You would have been a social outcast just from being around me. It’s better like this. I’d rather us be distant than ruining everything over some stupid, shitty eighth grade break-up anyways.” You laughed.

“I guess… I just feel bad for screwing you over, even just as a friend.”

"Don't worry, Stevie. You'll find a nice girl to settle down with, make a little family, and I'll- I don't know, find someone more my speed. Things will work out one day."

He rolled the cigarette between his fingers in thought, swallowing hard. Why did that sting so badly? He hadn't thought about you like that in years and yet it hurt to be written as completely incompatible, for you to paint your respective futures without the other in them. He knew you hadn’t really talked in years, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t start again, especially with how well things were going tonight. He took one more drag before putting out the stump of the cigarette, discarding it in the street. The two of you listened to the music, a light hum starting in your throat.

"I actually did want to dance with you." He suddenly confessed. You gave him a confused look and his cheeks burned under your gaze, a hand scratching at his neck. "At the Snowball. I remember thinking that you looked really pretty and uh, I wanted to dance with you. Really badly. But I-" he coughed into his fist anxiously. "I let my friends talk me out of it. Which fucking sucks and was really rude, and even though you say it's fine I'm still sorry."

Your lips parted slightly, something unknown sparkling in your eyes. As he finished speaking, you smiled warmly and let your cheek press to his shoulder, almost like you were hiding.

"Thanks, Steve…" Your voice was softer than before.

"Yeah…" He replied, tentatively wrapping his arm around your back to softly grip your forearm on your far side. The silence rolled back in, but it was softer this time, and lasted much longer.

"I'm sorry about Nancy, by the way." You spoke quietly, hands fiddling in your lap. "I was- uh, I saw you guys kind of get into it at that dumb Halloween party. And then I saw you leave without her and Jonathan and-" you sucked in a breath, like you'd said too much. "Yeah, I'm just sorry."

He squeezed your arm lightly, swallowing the lump in his throat before replying simply with, "S'fine."

You chewed your lip for a long pause, but when the distant song changed to something slower, you suddenly sat up straight; Steve quickly missed your warmth.

"Well, I believe you owe me a dance." You grinned brightly at him and held out a hand.

He stared into your scraped up palm, bewildered at the sudden change in mood. "What?"

"Hey, it's the night of the Snowball, I'm dressed in my best,” you gestured to yourself almost sarcastically, “and you always look good,” you gestured to him, sounding a hair more sincere, “and you owe me at least one dance." You snickered and pushed yourself to your feet, offering up your hand again. "Unless, of course, you've suddenly decided you don't want to associate with undesirables."

He rolled his eyes and took your hand, albeit gently to accommodate for the scuffs there. "Stop talking like that, I'm not really that much of anything anymore, and you’re not," he scrunched his face up and shook his head, “undesirable.”

You tugged him to his feet with surprising strength, and he was mildly grateful for your thick-soled shoes; it put you at the perfect height difference, which made it easier to dance. You guided one of his hands to your waist and trailed your fingers lightly up his arm to rest on his shoulder. The two of you slowly began swaying awkwardly, a little stilted and bodies just a little too far away from each other.

You laughed sweetly, head thrown back in a way that exposed the pretty skin of your throat. "Harrington, I don't think any teachers are gonna come tell us off if we get a little closer. I didn't take you for being shy." That smirk pulled back onto your face.

He rolled his eyes, cheeks burning hot as you stepped into his space without hesitation. He released your waist and brought your joined hands above your head to give you a quick spin.

"How's that for shy, huh?" He said as his hands returned to their previous placement.

You only laughed again in response.

As you both relaxed, you slowly drifted closer and closer, as if being drawn together by an invisible string. Soon, your head was pressed to his chest, his hand released in favor of joining your other hand behind his neck. Both of his hands stayed respectfully on your waist, his chin lightly pressed to the top of your head. While you swayed, he was suddenly very glad he had decided to stop and talk to you. That reminded him, however, of the reason he'd stopped in the first place.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yeah?" Your voice was like a fluffy blanket, soft and warm.

"Why were you sitting out here alone?"

You laughed shortly, leaning up to his ear. "To be honest?" You hesitated, voice shaking with hardly contained humor, with an ever widening smile. "I ate shit while riding my skateboard around and was trying to pick the gravel out of my body, but it made me nauseous so I stopped."

"Oh my God." Steve laughed through the words, delighting in the way you hung off of him as you lost it. You hid your face in his shirt, muffling the high, hysterical sounds of your giggles.

"Do you want a ride home after this, then?"

You looked up with tears of laughter in your eyes. "I thought you'd never ask.”

Despite your protests of being okay to walk on your own, he helped you into the passenger seat of his car, giving your hands a light squeeze before drawing back to shut the door and head over to the driver's side.

"So, how's about we head over to my place to patch you up first, hm?" He spoke as he pulled onto the road. "It's pretty late, though." He added, more to himself than to you.

You chuckled, "Sure, Steve. My parents aren't home anyways, they won't even notice."

He nodded knowingly. Some things never change, and that had been one of the reasons you two had originally gotten so close in eighth grade. Neither of your parents were ever home, so you'd just walk to each other's houses after school. Sometimes just to hang out, but mostly to spend the night. It made you both feel just a bit safer, to have another body in the house with you. He realized how much he had sorely missed that feeling of security as he pulled up to his house.

"Do you… do you wanna stay the night?" He cleared his throat and tried to sound more confident than he actually was. You winced and opened your mouth to reply when he suddenly realized how charged with implications that question now was.

"Not to like- not like that, just, y'know," His voice died as he concentrated on parking the car and finally turned to look at your hesitant face, "like we used to. Obviously I have the guest room and you can say no of course you can always say no but-"

"Steve," You pressed a reassuring hand to his shoulder, "I'd love to stay the night."

He sent back a small, apologetic, and grateful smile. To be truthful, he hadn't been sleeping very well, if at all. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was those things. He heard them between every baited breath, and when his eyes slipped closed, he felt them watching. The rational part of him knew it was all over, that he was probably safe in the confines of his room, that the only creatures he had to worry about in the tender hours of the night were wild animals typical to the area, but he just couldn't shake that feeling. The feeling that he was being watched, that the worst was only yet to come, that something was waiting just beyond their sight, watching, waiting.

"Steve?" Your voice pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, hand clenched around the cold bathroom doorknob.

"Sorry," He mumbled before twisting the handle and stepping in.

"It's fine," you stated gently, closing the toilet seat and sitting atop it while he dug through cabinets to locate the first-aid kit. "Where were you?"

"What?" He glanced up at you without turning his head.

You waved a hand, lips pursed. "You looked like you were… somewhere else. Somewhere bad."

It took a moment for him to get what you were saying, but once he did a lump formed at the back of his throat. He knelt at your feet, trying to roll up your pant legs with careful consideration for your knees.

"Nowhere, it's fine. I'm just kind of… tired." Not a lie, he felt like his limbs were made of lead.

You hummed, leaning forward to rest an elbow just above your knee and perching your chin on your hand. "This'd be easier if I was wearing shorts. You got anything I could borrow?"

He stood up, relenting and letting your pant leg drop back down to your ankle. "Yeah, I'll be back in a sec."

It was only when he had started digging through his dresser that he realized how readily he agreed to lend you his stuff, how easy you had found it to ask him to. There had been no hesitation, it almost felt natural, like it hadn’t been nearly four years since you’d even spoken a word to each other. He felt something warm in his chest, and he decided to be grateful for the comfortability that still remained between you two.

When he got back, you were picking at the open wounds on your palms, wearing a bored expression. "Stop that, you're gonna make it worse."

You looked up and gave him an award-winning smile of innocence. "Doing what? I've got no clue what you're talking about."

He tossed you the shorts and t-shirt in his hands and headed for the door. "Let me know when you're done changing."

You tilted your head curiously. "Why's there a shirt? Something wrong with mine?"

"Just figured you'd want to sleep in something other than your street clothes, you're free to just give it back." He called over his shoulder before pulling the door shut behind him.

The bathroom was nearly silent behind Steve as he leaned against the wall beside the door. He was almost nodding off when your voice suddenly sounded.

"You can come back in, pretty boy."

The pet name made his cheeks glow with blush, taking a calming breath before opening the door with indifference forced onto his face. It got even harder to keep the expression when he saw you, in his clothes, in his bathroom, staring up at him. Your street clothes were folded neatly on the edge of the sink, your socked feet lightly tapping at the tile. A smirk tugged at your lips, and you were opening your mouth to say something when he quickly ducked the statement to kneel at your feet once more.

"Christ, how were you even standing?" He lightly ghosted his fingers over the bloody gashes at your knees. He pressed his palm just above your knee and stroked the skin there with his thumb. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

As he looked back up at you, he found your mouth still hanging open, cheeks flushed. You coughed into a fist and cast your gaze to the side. "Looks a lot worse than it actually is."

He scowled lightly. "Really?"

"Yeah, I've experienced worse." You chuckled. "Nothing will compare to when I broke my leg sophomore year." You grinned down at him, an attempt to reassure him gone wrong. "The bone was sticking out, it was pretty sick."

He looked horrified and you laughed, loud and hearty and so very you. "That's terrible."

"It's fine, really. I've recovered, obviously." You chuckled. He finally withdrew to start digging through the first-aid kit, shaking his head in disbelief as he did so. That definitely explained the massive scar on your left knee.

"Okay, here, this'll probably sting a bit, but it's important that we get them as clean as possible." He narrated as he pulled out some hydrogen peroxide. He dug around for a small hand towel and dumped some of the liquid on it.

"I'm a big kid, I'm sure I can handle it."

He shook his head again. "You can squeeze my shoulder if it hurts too bad, and we can always take breaks if you want."

Your grin turned mischievous, "Oh, yeah? You gonna take care of me?" Your flirtatious tone made his face light up like a Christmas light. He quickly pressed the cloth to your right knee.

You gasped loudly, hands flying down to squeeze at his shoulders. "Jesus Christ, Steve! A little warning would've been nice!"

He didn't respond, opting to rub your left thigh apologetically. He would've apologized out loud if he had trusted his voice to not shake. By the time he was done wiping down your knees, you had two fistfulls of his red shirt in each hand. Your makeup was running down your cheeks and neck, forcing yourself to swallow back a pained sound.

"You did such a good job, we're almost done, alright?" He spoke softly, setting down the cloth in favor of antibiotic ointment and bandages. To give you some credit, they did in fact, look a lot worse than they actually were. Still, he hadn't been expecting any reaction less than the one you’d had. 

"Give me your hands?" He asked lightly as he finished up bandaging your knees.

You gave him a hesitant look, paired with a sniffle, but extended your hands at his patient expression. He felt you relax in his grip as you realized those didn't hurt nearly as bad as your knees.

"There," He practically breathed the word out, having to clear his throat to continue, "all better."

"Gonna kiss 'em better?" He looked up into your watery grin, and he found himself having to scramble to regain his footing in the situation. He looked back down, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to each knee.

"St-Steve-" you stammered, but you choked on your words as he took your hands into his, looking into your eyes as he pressed light kisses to your palms.

Satisfied with your silence, bright red cheeks, and gaping mouth, he stood. "Better?"

"Y-yeah." Your voice trailed off, quickly glancing into your palms to trace the kisses with your eyes.

"Good, you had anything for dinner yet?"

You shook your head wordlessly, jumping a bit when his hand reached into your view.

"C'mon, I think I can whip something up for us." He didn't actually expect you to take his hand, you would probably just push it away with another hearty laugh. That's what would have made sense with what knowledge he’d gathered on you. You did no such thing, however, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. He felt your hand squeeze at his lightly, lingering just a little longer than what was probably acceptable, and let go.

What was happening? Why were you both acting like this? Steve was absolutely puzzled as you started talking his ear off, it was almost as if none of that had just happened. He was only half listening as you rambled, but you didn't seem to mind his distant expression; you must have just wanted someone to talk to. The entire time all he could think about was how bizarre tonight had turned. He felt almost bad at the fluttering in his chest, but it was kind of soothing and certainly preferential to the ache that had been there earlier in the night.

After dinner, you had cleaned your makeup-smudged face off and gone your separate ways. You had patted Steve's shoulder with a splitting yawn and mumbled out a "G'night." The knowledge that you were in the house with him did less to soothe his nerves than he thought it would, less than it had when you were little. Then again, he had had less things to worry about at that time, As he laid in his bed, his eyes kept drawing back open to stare at the window. Every little sound was some nightmarish creature, every shadow was hunting him. He dragged a tired hand down his face, stretching out the heavy bags under his eyes. Suddenly, he ripped the blankets back from his body and stood, a hand quickly being pressed to his desk to steady himself. He couldn’t help but look out of the window at the pool. His stomach lurched and he forced himself to turn away, a sad attempt at shutting out the millions of thoughts spinning through his head. It’s bullshit, we killed Barb, we killed Barb, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. He tried to be quiet as he stumbled to the bathroom and splashed his face with palm-fulls of water; it took at least 30 minutes to stop himself from retching.

With any chances of sleeping officially ruined, he made his way to the kitchen. He got himself a glass of water and sipped at it morosely, trying to convince himself that he was safe. The creak of the stairs set him on edge, hand gripping at the cup. His heart pounded in his ears as the sound of something moving through the house got closer and closer until-

“Steve?” Your groggy voice immediately shattered the tension. You gave him a tired smile, your tone teasing as you continued. “You too cool for sleep, huh?”

A heavy sigh of relief tore through his chest, the inhale proceeding it shaky. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You okay? You look…” You sleepily searched for an adjective as you made your way over to him.

“Like shit?” He provided.

“Scared.” Oh. “Terrified, actually. Did something happen?” Oh.

It was humiliating how that simple question nearly brought him to tears. He liked to blame the lack of sleep for how vulnerable his body was trying to be. It took a massive amount of effort to dam up the flood of tears and the selfish explanation that came rushing in. The less of the truth you knew, the safer you would be, and he refused to be the one who put you in that kind of danger just because he couldn’t keep his shit together.

“Bad dream?” Your fingers lightly brushed the back of his bicep as you unknowingly provided a helpful excuse for him to escape with.

He nodded, teeth clenched tightly. He averted his gaze quickly to stare into the wall and attempt to blink back the tears.

You were quiet for a long beat, fingers drawing soothing patterns into his skin. You took the glass from his hand and took a sip from it. “D’you wanna build a blanket fort in the living room?” When he looked back at your face, you were grinning childishly.

“Okay, that should do it,” You groaned with a stretch as you gave one last tuck to the corner of the blanket draped over the top of your soft structure.

“You’re still really good at that; you been practicing without me?” He teased with a tired smile.

You laughed and shook your head. “Build a fort? With another man? What do you take me for?”

He let out a responding laugh, combing a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

You grinned up at him, clearly pleased with that response. “Well, what are we waiting for?” And with that, you were crawling in through the entrance.

Steve waited for you to settle inside before heading in out of fear that he would tear the whole thing down. You were snuggled into the corner, surrounded by pillows and trying to set the flashlight up in a way that it didn't need to be held to still shine light into the makeshift cove. The fort was not as spacious as it had appeared to be, or rather, the two of you were a lot bigger than the last time you'd built a fort together, and you hadn’t accommodated for this factor. His legs ended up snug against yours as he laid next to you, your shoulder pressing into his chest.

"There." You finally let out a quiet, excited woop as you succeeded in putting up the flashlight. "Now," you turned your gaze to Steve, suddenly holding a faux air of severity, "you gonna come here or what?"

“What?” He laughed the word out, feeling the tops of his cheeks and the tips of his ears heat up at your opened, welcoming arms.

“Well,” you wiggled a bit to get more comfortable, “this is a pretty small fort, and you look pretty cold, and I’m pretty sure you’d benefit from a good snuggle.”

“You look pretty,” He grumbled out, the words a failed knee-jerk attempt at sass. Your cheeks leaked rouge and you beamed back at him.

“C’mon, I won’t make you do anything if you genuinely don’t want to, but you seriously look like you need a hug.” He was grateful that you hadn’t brought up his comment.

You were right, of course, he definitely needed a hug. The longer he stared at you in contemplation, the harder it was to resist giving in. Finally, he slid closer to you, careful to not press his entire weight into your body. Your arms wrapped around him and your hands came up to hold his head, all to pull him closer into you.

“There we go, c’mere big cat,” Your smile was evident in your voice as you gave him a tight squeeze. “Isn’t that so much better?”

He grumbled a half-hearted complaint about your fingers being cold, but his body language spoke very clearly that he was in pure bliss. His arm slid up to hold across your waist, grip a little stronger than you had expected. His other arm was pulled up against his chest, fist tucked up under his chin. Your breath ghosted over the top of his head, one hand stroking gently through his hair, picking softly and splitting apart hairsprayed strands. The other hand rubbed a line up and down his back with a firm tenderness; every careful touch pulled him into a state of calm that he hadn’t known for quite some time. A soft, embarrassing sound came from his throat as you pulled your hand away from his back and you chuckled.

“Just grabbing a blanket, s’that okay?” Your voice was somewhere between speaking and whispering.

He nodded against your chest, letting you lean up slightly to grab a blanket and he helped you pull it over your bodies. You tucked it gently up to his chin, sending a small smile down at him when he met your gaze. Your fingers were warmer than before as they slid down from his hair to gently cup his cheek, thumb brushing under his eye.

“You comfy?” You smiled brilliantly when he nodded again. “Good. Try to get some sleep, yeah? You look like shit.”

He huffed out a half-laugh and pressed his cheek back down to your chest. “Easier said than done.”

“Yeah, I get that…” You continued to stroke his hair, apologizing when one of your rings caught and tugged a strand.

Despite his snarky comment, he found himself slipping into the clutches of sleep in your arms. He could hear the rhythm of your heartbeat through your ribs underneath his ear, and he felt the rumble in your chest when you started to quietly hum. His tight grip around you slowly eased as he drifted away from the conscious world, finally letting his tired body rest.

You could feel the moment he fell asleep, could see it in the way his expression relaxed. His eyebrows finally drew up and apart, his lips parting just slightly and the softest snores started to leave through the gap. He looked very pretty like this, all relaxed and peaceful. You leaned down to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, and eased your head back into the pillow. You squeezed him one more time, his arms unconsciously tightening around you a hair, and you let yourself finally be taken from the world by sleep as well.